


The Assorted Tales of the Shield-Maiden and the Brigand

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amalgamation of prompts and drabbles and ficlets, F/M, I'm not going to tag everyone who appears because dang that would take forever, If you need anything tagged let me know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 134
Words: 68,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3209663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short ficlets, prompt responses and chunks I have written for the Varric/Cassandra relationship. Some NSFW, some sad, some quite happy (apparently). All cross-posted from my Tumblr.</p><p>Update: 15th May, starts at chapter 113.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tumblr prompt: first kiss (SC)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: First kiss, for antivanruffles on Tumblr.

Things were going well, Varric thought. For one, she hadn’t tried to kill him… yet. _Early days_ , he thinks now with a chuckle.

He had spent the evening with her, explaining just how she was, in fact, the real shield-maiden from his books, and how he had never anticipated what had developed in his heart. In turn, she had haltingly admitted her crush on the brigand, her awkwardly-forming feelings for him, and how she had avoided looking him in the eyes for days because of it all. Her hands did not shake as she held his tightly, and her smile did not vanish when he told her how fond he was of her, behind all the bluster.

And then the messenger had come for her.

“The Inquisitor means to set off tonight. It appears she is intent on catching up with Blackwall on the road.” She frowns slightly as she finishes reading the missive.

“I take it I’m not invited to the kidnapping party,” he drawls, and she shakes her head as she rises. “And I was so looking forward to it.”

“I… I should go.”

And suddenly the awkwardness envelopes them, eyes not quite meeting and hands unsure of where to sit.

“Oh. Uh, sure.” He forces a smile. “Go get ‘em.”

She nods, hesitating for a moment before stepping out of the room. The door closes behind her and Varric groans, letting his body fall back against his cot. _Idiot._ Who knew when she would be back? And when she was… he closes his eyes, the thought filling him with dread. _What if she changed her mind?_

The door opens again, and he hauls himself up to find Cassandra crossing the room to meet him.

“Seeker?”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. She is hard and soft in the same breath, power and submission and trembling against him and he is utterly entranced by the feel of her lips against his, one hand on her hip and the other reaching up to pull her face closer as they finally fall into step.

It is a long moment before they break, soft breaths and even softer smiles.

“Brigand,” she whispers.

“Shield-maiden. I’ll be waiting.”

She rests her forehead against his for a second. “You had better be. I do not often let my guard down.”

He chuckles. “You and me both, Seeker.”


	2. Prompt: sniffles (SC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cassandra being the worst sufferer of the sniffles ever, for janiemcpants and crisium.

He has dealt with demons. He has handled Hightown at its worst. But when the Seeker is bedbound with a bad case of the sniffles, Varric knows he is in for a real challenge.

“What is this?” She sniffs frequently, scowling the whole time.

“It’s soup, Seeker. You like soup.”

“I do not care for soup.”

He chuckles, settling on the edge of the bed carefully. “Bullshit,” he says gently. “Lie back, or I’ll tell the Inquisitor you were trying to get outside for some sword practice.”

“I was not -”

“No, but she’s far more likely to believe me, and if her tying you down is the only way you’ll stay in bed then I’ll lie my ass off.”

She sulks but assents, relaxing somewhat against the headboard. He offers her the spoon. She glares.

“I am not a child, Varric.”

“Oh, come on. I’m trying to help.”

“I can eat soup without supervision.”

He sighs, setting the spoon against the bowl. “Seeker -”

“I do not even see the point in this ridiculous ritual of locking up the slightly-ill for fear of a plague of… of sniffles!”

“Cassandra Allegra Portia Bullshit Princess Seeker Pentaghast, _shut up_.” He could laugh at the shocked look on her face, could kiss the slight curve of her mouth where the smile starts to crack through, could praise the sodding Maker as her shoulders relax. “Listen to me. You are sick, and you have a rare opportunity to kick back and make me your more-than-willing slave for a day or two. And you’re complaining?”

“Are you suggesting you would not be willing to take care of me under normal circumstances?” she teases, and he rolls his eyes.

“Seeker, I would ‘take care of you’ right here and now if I thought your throat could take the screaming. You’re missing the point.” Taking one of her hands in both of his, he appeals to her. “Let me look after you, just this one time. For me.”

She does not look too pleased, but nods. He kisses her knuckles, before picking up the spoon and offering the soup to her once more. With a glare – tempered by the fading blush from his earlier comment – she graciously accepts the food. He beams.

“Much better. See? It’s easier when you just let it happen.”

“Mm.” She scowls again.

“Chin up, Seeker.” He holds the spoon up again. “Here comes the dragon! Whoooosh -”

The soup bowl is knocked to the floor in the ensuing laughter, but Varric does not seem to mind terribly.


	3. Agony, pt 1 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Agony Trilogy, part one of three.
> 
> Varric suffers for a mistake.

She has suffered far worse injuries, but when Dorian insists bedrest and the Iron Bull all but carries her to her room, Cassandra knows there will be no arguing with them. Leliana is already waiting with warm water and fresh towels, helping her in and out the tub with ease. By the time the Seeker has settled herself against the crisp bedsheets, she feels considerably better already – though her leg still looks tender, the pink skin around the wound shining from the most recent application of salves.

Varric hovers at the doorway, and she has to resist the urge to bark at him to come in, settling for a beckoning wave.

“How’s the leg?” His voice is as wary as his movements, and she shrugs.

“It will heal. It always does.”

“Sure.” He motions for her to lean forward, fluffing up her pillow as she sits up. “Still, must hurt. Want something to take your mind off it?”

“Your company would be much appreciated.” She reaches for his hand, but her fingers close on air. He is already moving, bustling around and adjusting her sheets.

“I was thinking more along the lines of Tiny’s magical painkiller flask. Stuff’s got a hell of a kick, but you won’t remember what hit you.”

“I -”

“Or maybe just some tea. Sparkler has that spicy Nevarran blend you like.” He is avoiding touching her, she realises, as if she might fracture once more. Not surprising, but quite vexing. “And I could read the latest chapter of my book, if you don’t mind me editing as I go. It’s not quite up there, but -”

“It was _not_ your fault, Varric.”

He stills, hands coming to rest at the foot of her bed as he lowers his eyes. “Cassandra -”

“None of us realised the dragon had a brood -”

“Stop trying to brush this off as another ridiculous scrap,” he mutters, coming back to her side. “If I hadn’t hung around, they wouldn’t have attacked. And I wouldn’t have needed your… intervention.”

She laughs slightly. “That is a strange way of phrasing it, dear heart.”

“ _Seeker_ ,” he whispers, and she rests her forehead against his.

“You are a fool,” she murmurs, “if you think I would choose any other course of action. Do not act like this is a great kindness – you would have done the same for any of our friends… for me.”

“You might not walk away next time,” he cautions.

“I would still -”

“Don’t.” He reaches up to silence her, thumb resting over her lips as he closes his eyes. “Don’t you _dare_. I’m not -” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not ready for that world. Not without you.”

“You will not have to.” She reaches up to frame his face with her hands. “I swear, I am not going anywhere.”

He manages a weak smile. “I’ll hold you to that. For now, I’m going to do what I can to make this up to you. Just… let me, alright?”

She assents, but as he pulls away from the bed she grabs his hand, impulsively pressing a soft kiss to his palm. He stops for a moment, suddenly unwilling to catch her eyes, and she half-expects him to bolt. But he brings her hand to his lips, lightly brushing her knuckles with affection.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, and she smiles, pulling back her hand and rearranging her covers once more.

“Optimist.”

He manages a genuine smile at that, and if his eyes are a little damp she says nothing. “For you, Seeker? _Always_.”


	4. Agony, pt 2 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Agony Trilogy, part 2 of 3.
> 
> Cassandra suffers.

The red archdemon cries out, a guttural screech that resonates through Cassandra’s bones, but as it falls to the ground she only has eyes for the dwarf.

“Varric? Varric?!” She scrambles over to him, shield thrown to the side.

“S-Seeker.” He manages a weak grin. “Did we win?”

She assesses the damage, her heart plummeting in her chest – several large shards of red lyrium managed to cut him up quite effectively, but the huge cluster of crystals sticking out of his chest tell the real story. It pulses oddly with each sharp breath. She looks up to Dorian, but the mage can only close his eyes. She wants to rail at him, to beg him – _save him, just this once save him_ – but as Varric’s blood flows she swallows the cry. Shuffling slightly, she pulls him into her lap, managing a smile.

“We did. The demon is slain, and Corypheus’s end is near.”

“Good.” It comes out far too softly, barely a wheeze, and her hand finds his, gripping tightly. “See? Optimism paid off in the end.”

“Varric, please. Don’t leave me.”

“’Fraid I can’t promise that.” He blinks, his actions all far too slow. “Just wish I could have finished the story.”

“Which story?”

“Our story. Had a huge finish all planned. Redemption, romance – a wedding fit for a princess -”

She presses her forehead to his, her tears falling onto his face. “V-Varric…”

“Hey, now… don’t be sad, Seeker. It’s alright. You can finish it, I trust you to do it right. Give it a happy ending.”

“Please. Please don’t leave me.” She shakes as he reaches up to hold her hair one last time. “I cannot – not without you.”

“You can,” he murmurs. “You have to. Someone has to tell them how it ends.”

“Please -”

“I love you, Princess.”

“Varric, stay with me. Stay. Please, I love you, I need you to stay.” She presses her lips to his, tasting blood. “P-Please. Stay. Stay here, stay with me.”

“Cassandra.”

“Stay with me.”

“Cassandra, he’s gone.”

“No, he – he can’t be. He can’t be!”

But as Cassandra cries out, the battle around them rages on, unmindful of the loss the world has endured that day.


	5. Agony, pt 3 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Agony Trilogy, part 3 of 3.
> 
> Cole suffers.

She does not cry after the fall of Corypheus. She does not wail as the Inquisitor screams to the skies, does not weep with her companions as they carry him from the field, does not shed a tear as they lay him to rest in the gardens of Skyhold.

She remains with him until everyone leaves, and she does not cry. She does not need to.

*

The roses are almost dead, but she holds them tightly to her chest, remembering the colours.

“They were beautiful,” she murmurs finally, voice quiet as she brings the flowers to her face, inhaling. “The most beautiful roses I have ever seen. I wondered who you had to bribe to get them for me. I suppose now I shall never know.”

It hurts. She has suffered so many wounds in her time – an axe embedded in her shoulder, an arrow to the thigh, more scratches and bruises than she could care to count. But it never fails to take her breath away, the immeasurable pain of losing a loved one. It had torn her in two when her brother had died. It had shattered her when Regalyan was lost to the explosion. She had scarred, deep and unseen in her heart, and assumed that was the end of it. Now she can barely breathe for agony, her unexpected measure of joy buried six feet under far too soon.

“When we first met… I had no idea what would follow. How could I – how could any of us have foreseen a second of this?” She kneels beside the headstone, placing the dying roses on the fresh grave. “How could I have known I would find safe harbour in this storm with you?”

“A ship in a storm, the waves are quieter now but the boat is lost.” Cole’s voice is quiet in the moonlight.

Cassandra looks up with earnest eyes. “I cannot forget him. Please.”

“It’s not fair. You’re hurting and I can’t make it better because it hurts me too and I can’t make myself better. How will it get better?”

“Time will ease the pain, but we will always feel it.”

“There’s a hole in the world where he was. I can see the outline, all blurred edges and the smell of good parchment and bad drink and the whisper of a laugh.” Cole shuffles slightly, hands twisting. “Nothing will fill it.”

She smiles slightly, shaking her head. “There will never be another like him.”

“I… I heard him. At the end.”

And that is something of a surprise, but Cassandra watches him struggle with the unspoken. She holds her arms out, and Cole looks apprehensive for a second before his face relaxes, falling into her embrace. She rests a hand on his head, closing her eyes.

“ _Hurts, it_ _ **hurts**_ _, shit for brains archdemon can’t even take me out with a clean blow – Seeker, my wonderful Seeker, I’m sorry I’m so sorry, our story was the best. You_ _ **have**_ _to keep going – have to tell them how good we made it -_ ” and here, Cole’s voice catches, Cassandra’s arms tightening around him - “ _you tell them we were_ _ **heroes**_ _, tell them the best of it. Andraste, Cassandra, I love you I love you_ _ **I love you**_ _-”_

The silence falls around them, the emptiness threatening to swallow them whole. The tears come, then, and they do not stop for a long time.


	6. Word meme - Sphallolalia (SC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sphallolalia - flirtatious talk that leads nowhere

The problem, Myra decides early on in the new relationship between Varric and Cassandra, is that they are just as bad as they were before – only with a new edge that made you feel slightly nauseous if you wound up too close to their conversations.

“Seeker, are you batting your eyelashes at me? I’m flattered.”

“I have something in my eye. Perhaps you could reach in with your small hand and -”

“Is that a reference to my height? Are you _sassing_ me right now?”

“ _Only_ right now?” she drawls, and he laughs in response.

“Why, Seeker, I never knew you cared. Keep this up and I’ll have to marry you.”

“You would not have the stones, dwarf.”

Myra groans, resting her head against Dorian’s shoulder. “Kill me. Please.”

“Only if you promise to kill _them_ first,” he murmurs, “it’s sickening.”


	7. Word meme - Capernoited (SC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capernoited - slightly intoxicated or tipsy

By the time she has finished her reports, debriefed Leliana and dunked her head in some lukewarm water, she feels almost human again. Human enough to unwind with a drink, she decides, as she rebraids her hair. Perhaps the inn would be quiet this evening.

Perhaps one day she might believe that.

*

The fight breaks out as she steps through the doorway, the Bull roaring with laughter as Varric swings wildly at one of the soldiers. The rumble of disgust from her throat is inaudible over the din, but she grabs the dwarf by the collar, dragging him away from the ruckus. She throws him into a chair, turning to glare at the men who might dare to fight back. As quickly as it started, it ends.

“Seeker, how kind of you to join us,” drawls the dwarf. “I see you’re as chipper as ever.”

She turns to face him, hands on hips. “What is wrong with you? Starting a bar fight -”

“I was _ending_ a bar fight,” he corrects, waving a hand broadly. “Important difference. Drink?”

“Varric -”

The soft strumming of the tavern’s local performer cuts her off, the opening strains of Cassandra’s least favourite song starting up. The words are piercing, and her brow furrows even deeper. _Her tongue tells tales of rebellion…_

Varric reaches over to offer her his mug, smile wry as she snatches it from him.

“Just say the word,” he says, “and I’ll start another fight.”

“Do not tempt me,” she mutters, drinking deep.


	8. Word meme - Mamihlapinatapei (SC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mamihlapinatapei - the look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move

It keeps happening.

*

“This is ridiculous, Seeker,” groans Varric for the seventh time in as many minutes. Cassandra taps her foot impatiently, but does not respond. “If _we’d_ gone in -”

“We would have been caught in moments,” she finishes tersely.

“Yeah, but at least we wouldn’t be waiting. Besides, why didn’t _you_ go in with Tevinter?”

“The whole idea behind the… ruse, is that the male is charming enough to avoid suspicion and the female is attractive enough to distract attention.”

“But you _are_ -” He catches himself, taking a deep breath as he realises what he had been about to say. _What the hell was that?_ He risks a furtive glance up at her – a slight reddening to the ears gives it away. He clears his throat. “… a lot more capable in getting people to talk,” he settles on, feeling decidedly ridiculous.  
“You would know,” she murmurs, nudging him, and the awkwardness dissipates – though the dwarf remains unnerved.

*

“You could have died!”

“I’m fine!”

“You have an _axe_ sticking out of your _leg_ , Varric. HOW IS THAT FINE?”

“Alright, it’s not ideal, but I’m still alive.”

Her hands bunch into fists, head bowed. “You could have died, you idiot, and then where would we be? The Inquisition needs you. _I_ need -” The words catch in her throat, a small mercy. Varric looks up at her, a strange look in his eyes.

“Seeker?”

She takes a moment, closing her eyes to centre herself. _Foolish. Just a foolish thought, nothing more._ “I need someone to _blame_ ,” she concludes, “when all is said and done. I have become quite accustomed to having you as my verbal sparring partner.”

His hand reaches for hers, surprisingly soft and warm against hers. “You say such nice things,” he drawls, and she pulls away out of habit. It hurts, deep down, and she pushes that feeling away.

*

It keeps _happening_.

The thought comes to each of them out of nowhere, but each treads too carefully, too warily – a connection constantly missed.

Cole wonders how long it can last.


	9. One Sentence Five Sentence: Why him? (SC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give me one sentence, I write the next five sentences: "Why him?" the tone angry, accusatory, "Of all people!"

Cassandra does not respond straight away, instead sizing up the woman in front of her - distraught, of course, but the judgement shone through. She did not think Cassandra good enough for Varric, that much was dazzlingly obvious.

Bianca does not flinch as the Seeker tuts, does not give ground as the Seeker steps forward - does not look away as she meets the Seeker’s steely gaze.

But Bianca has to admit defeat when the Seeker speaks.

"For the same reason you could not let him go - he is a good man, _despite_ the company he keeps.”


	10. Prompt: Nicknames (SC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: After that Cassandra/Varric prompt fic I kind of need fic where Varric constantly calls Cassandra 'Princess' or 'your Majesty' etc to piss her off (but she secretly likes it?)

"Had enough of the bears, your Majesty?"

He is out of breath, scratched to shit and completely exhausted, but somehow he manages to summon the energy to make another royal dig at her. She seethes, but the Inquisitor soon distracts her, summoning her to help Dorian.

As the Seeker attends to the wounded mage, Myra hands Varric another potion.

"Lay off her," she asks, and Varric grins.

"Where’s the fun in that?"

*

The trip back to Skyhold is tense. Varric spins a tale of princesses and parties, dropping Cassandra’s name in wherever possible. By the time the keep appears on the skyline, even Dorian is weary of the bickering.

"Do you think he has a death wish?" he remarks to Myra nonchalantly.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, Maker only knows with him. I _did_ ask him to stop.”

"Which only fuelled him onwards, I suppose."

"A childish error on my part."

"Indeed. For shame, my dear!"

Behind them, Cassandra’s grip on the hilt of her weapon is at breaking point - though whether her sword or her hand would be the first to shatter was the real question.

"And of course, the princess was dainty as a flower, sat upon the bed of a thousand mattresses - hey, Seeker, are they really that comfy? Royal beds, I mean. How many mattresses - hey!" Varric is shoved unceremoniously off the path, the woman blocking his way.

"Why?"

"Well, I’d like to know -"

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice wavers only slightly, the setting sun revealing the emotion in her eyes. "You _know_ I did not choose -“

Varric straightens up, all levity gone. “You wrote to Bianca. You had _no_ right to do that, you risked _everything_ for the sake of a petty argument -“

"I never wrote to her!"

"Then why is she writing to me, telling me to - and I quote - run back to my human whore?"

She grits her teeth, biting back the choice response. Instead, she settles for logic. “I spoke to her, once, when she came to ask for help -“

"Bullshit!"

”- and then once after, in Val Royeaux.”

"Why?"

"She asked to see me. She had a question you could not answer.”

Varric glares. “What did you tell her?”

The Seeker tsks. “I gave her an answer. She already knew about us, if that is what you wish to know.”

"How?"

"I assumed you told her. _Clearly_ not.” And that was the real kicker, that Varric had assumed she might never know that she was a secret. That he might have gotten away with it.

"I was _going_ to -“

"Of course you were. But regardless, she found out. She came to me, angry, and left the same. No doubt that is why she… chose that particular description for me."

"Seeker -"

"No, Varric. I understand your upset, but… I cannot believe you would not ask me first. You _know_ me - I would not have denied such a thing if it had been true.”

He looks mortified at that, and on any other day she might be proud of herself for producing such a rare and strange expression. But she goes on, voice once more ready to break.

"And I do not know how she found out, and I do not care. I am not ashamed. I _thought_ you felt the same. I thought - well, it does not matter now, does it? She assumed you two might still have something, and she was not corrected in this.” She swallows. “Not only have I been ritually embarrassed over my heritage today, but I now find that the one I love has a contingency plan.”

"Cassandra, I didn’t -"

"You may want to consider your words, Varric. There are very few that will do."

And she turns on her heel, walking back to the path where a concerned mage and the Inquisitor wait patiently.

The trip continues in grim silence.

*

She bathes in cold water, dries herself with an old towel and throws on an old doublet as she sinks to the floor beside her cot. She is the very picture of piety, hands clasped as she prays for strength.

“Princess.”

His voice is low, regretful and sorry, and she misses him despite her better judgement. She does not move.

“Of all the things you could _possibly_ say –“

“Let me explain it,” he offers, “because a lot of thought went into it.”

“… fine.” She rises, sitting on the edge of her cot and nodding for him to begin.

“You _are_ a princess. And it doesn’t matter that you walked away from that, it doesn’t matter that you stripped away all of your fancy names and titles to walk a different path – when I call you royalty, I should respect what that means.” He steps forward slowly as he elaborates. “I was an idiot – that much is obvious, but specifically when I chose to make you angry. I called you ‘princess’ to dishonour you, to make you feel bad. But… I am honoured by you, by your effect in my life. Sure, we have our bad days. Who doesn’t?” He smiles slightly. “Maybe our bad days are a bit worse.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she drawls.

“I’m sorry, Seeker. I could stand here and tell you everything I should have done, everything I planned to say and do and think, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I was wrong not to bring this to you before. I was wrong when I insulted you, every step of the way.” He takes her hands in his, light and respectful for the first time in days. “I’m not – look, I’m not _ashamed_. Look at me – I’m in love with a princess who can kick my ass into check, I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Why did you not…”

“Tell her? It was none of her business.” He shrugs. “I know I have a soft spot where she’s concerned, but… it was over, a long time ago.”

“ _Varric_.”

“Yeah, I know.” He cups her cheek, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I fucked up. And I’m sorry, I really am.”

She closes her eyes, breathing in deeply. “You have not explained why you still call me Princess,” she points out.

“It’s a promise. A promise to treat you with the respect you deserve – the respect you’ve more than earned. You should be getting my best –“

She snorts, and his smile twists slightly.

“- and not just in the bedroom,” he adds. “You make me want to be better, and that… scares the _shit_ outta me.”

“Would you wish to be my prince?” she teases, opening her eyes to regard him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs. “But I’ll give you the royal treatment, if you let me.”

She hesitates for just a moment, and the worry in his eyes flares.

“Varric, I will not easily forget this,” she warns. “And I do not easily forgive.”

“I know. I know, and I understand if you can’t. I’ve disappointed you enough before to realise that this is a whole new level of shit that I am wading through. But I can do better. I _will_ do better.”

She narrows her eyes, but her hand squeezes his.

“You can start now, by promising me an apology.”

“As many as you -”

“In front of the Inquisitor. _And_ Dorian,” she adds.

“Done.”

“And none of that princess talk.”

“But that’s my promise! To remind me to be better!”

“Too convenient,” she asserts, and he smiles slightly, knowing he is caught out. “Not in front of people. Acceptable?”

“Oh, so you want be a Seeker on the streets and a princess in the sheets?”

“ _Varric!_ ”

“Hey, nothing wrong with wanting a little more pampering behind closed doors,” he assures her, sliding onto the bed beside her. “More than happy to oblige.”

“Well… if you are more than happy to, a massage would not go amiss,” she decides, her smile wry. He chuckles, patting his lap. She snuggles against his leg, head resting in his lap as his fingers tease at her scalp. “Mmm. Better.”

“I _am_ sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“You shouldn’t,” she agrees quietly. “But now you know, let us move on.”

“As you command, Princess.”

Cassandra does not feel the usual rankling sensation that time.


	11. One Sentence Five Sentence: And they all lived happily ever after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give me one sentence, I write the next five sentences: "And they all lived happily ever after."

Varric writes the last line of his final story on the back of a dead soldier’s shield, one arm covering his precious patient as the fire rages around him.

"Is… is it done?" Cassandra asks weakly, and he tries to smile for her one last time. Reaching out, he brushes her hair lightly, the blood already matting it.

"Done, Seeker," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead as another explosion rocks the ground. "You can sleep now, I - I promise, I’ll be here when you -"

She reaches up to stroke his cheek, but her hand hits the floor before she gets the chance - the night takes her, for good, and Varric can only wait for the flames to claim them.


	12. Prompt: Injuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "SINCE YOU LOVE BEARS AND CASSANDRA how about a cassandra/varric prompt where a bear has cornered varric and cassandra goes ballistic and saves him"

Varric does not remember who attracted the bears, or how many lumbered over the hill. All he knows is that there are _too many damned bears_ and someone was going to pay.

The Iron Bull can only laugh as he swings his sword around, the intricate dance of blades punctuated by roars from both the man and the beasts. Varric envies him his power - hunkered down behind Bianca, he is a little out of his depth. But he remains light on his feet, and that is enough to save him for now.

The bears, of course, have other ideas. A large one looms behind him, the shadow falling over him like a blanket, and time begins to slow as he turns around to meet the animal, desperately trying to get a blind shot in before the inevitable -

 **Clang**.

Wait, that wasn’t right.

Cassandra growls, a noise he has never heard before from her (but part of him sincerely hopes to hear again) and Varric opens his eyes to find the woman standing between him and certain death. The bear roars right back, but the Inquisitor smacks him in the head from behind with the pommel of her blade, and the distraction is enough for the warriors to dispatch him with three short jabs.

"Holy _shit_ , Seeker, where did you come from?”

"You are welcome," she drawls, before falling to one knee with a grunt.

"Seeker?"

"It is nothing."

"Bullshit," he mutters, ducking underneath her arm to support her. “You didn’t have to -”

“Oh, _do_ shut up, Varric,” she murmurs, wincing as the Inquisitor takes her other side. “What good is a shield-maiden without her brigand?”

For once he has no answer, face drawn and eyes low.

*

They are welcomed in Redcliffe, and Cassandra is left to nurse her wounds in the comfort of the inn. The water is hot against her bruises, but as she tightens the bindings around the wound on her shoulder it feels good.

_Knock. Knock._

“Enter,” she calls, glancing over her shoulder to find out who required her attention. When Varric enters, she is mildly surprised. “You knocked?”

“I, ah… I knocked.” He shrugs, and her eyes narrow.

“What troubles you?”

He crosses over slowly, one hand lightly brushing the bandage that now wraps around her torso. “You okay?”

“I will heal. Another scar for the collection.” She laughs. “Another story for you to tell.”

“Not this one.” At her frown, he reaches to stroke her cheek. “You could have died. You shouldn’t have -”

“Varric, what’s wrong?” She turns to face him proper, holding his face with her hands. “We risk our lives every day. Why is today different?”

“ _I_ should have been hurt. _I_ should be the one with the scars and the stories.”

“I am your shield, Varric. And you are my shadow. _You_ have saved _me_ more times than I care to imagine. Do not forget those moments so quickly because of a scratch.”

He is struggling with the idea, she can see it in his eyes. Canting her head, she smiles lightly.

“Besides, it is entirely my own fault. If I had not baited that first bear -”

“Wait, it was _your_ fault?” He grabs her wrists. “Seeker, there were more bears than I have _ever_ seen in my fantastically-interesting life. There were more bears than anyone has ever seen in a lifetime of bear-hunting. In fact,” he adds – and Cassandra ducks her eyes, willing herself not to laugh as the humour finally filters through into his voice, “they were the _entire_ bear population of the whole damned _country_. There are now _no_ _more_ _bears_ _in_ _Ferelden_. I hope you’re happy, you genocidal – mmf!”

She pulls him forward, silencing him with a lingering kiss, fingers sliding effortlessly into his hair. He responds enthusiastically, and she assumes she is forgiven.

“What can I say?” she says, grinning as she pulls back. “Bears are a challenge I can never back down from.”

He rolls his eyes. “Seeker, no…”


	13. Phrase prompt: Is That A Challenge?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 74 - Is That A Challenge?

She spots them from a mile away, drawing her weapon.

Varric turns at the sound, frowning. “What? What’s out there?” Slipping Bianca from his shoulder, he scans the surrounding area.

"Oh, Maker’s breath, Cassandra," groans Dorian, stopping in his tracks. "They’re not even _tracking_ us. Let’s just… get beyond them and keep going.”

The Inquisitor stops a few paces ahead, turning to peer at the group. “What are you all stopping for? Let’s go.”

"No. They will double back on us. Better to end this now."

Varric rolls his eyes. “Seeker, no!”

Cassandra bares her teeth in a grin that sends horror - and more than a little arousal - down his spine. “Seeker, _yes_ ,” she growls, sword raised as she runs full-pelt at the pack of bears.


	14. Phrase prompt: Annoyance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 69 - Annoyance

He grins, resting his feet on the desk and clearing his throat loudly. That was usually enough to elicit a reaction - if he was lucky, it would be favourable.

But today, Cassandra does not show the slightest indication of having noticed his presence, so intently is her attention on the documents at hand.

"You know, the Inquisitor’s putting a team together for her venture into the Hinterlands later in the week. You might not have heard of it, she’s rather keen to avoid bears this time."

The Seeker remains unmoved, finger lightly tracing a phrase as she copies the words onto fresh parchment.

The grin fades, and he straightens up in the chair. “Are you even listening, your Majesty?” It’s a low blow, one he only uses to finish arguments, but even that does not stir her. He huffs, kicking back from the desk. “Fine. You win.”

"I _told_ you,” she says finally, looking up with a smirk of her own. “Never bet against a Nevarran. Drinks on you later?”

"Sure, sure…"


	15. AU Prompt: Soulmate/soulword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Yey! Okay so Number 1 the Soulmate AU. There's a really cool au I've seen where soul mates have a birth tattoo of the first words their soul mate will speak to them somewhere on their body. Can you write a fic where Cassandra and Varric realise they're sole mates and freak out about it or something (so canon dragon age world, but AU soul mate thing)? :D Feel free to take liberties with the prompt

We do not talk about it often - it is just one of those facts that people accept. Words burned into your skin from the moment you are born, words that you trace over and over in youth until they are seared into your soul. Words that you all but forget about until they are spoken aloud by another person - your soulmate.

Some forget their soulwords altogether, only realising in the throes of a new relationship that the first words uttered were right - or wrong. Others rely on their soulwords like an anchor, dismissing all who miss the mark. Most keep them close but do not depend on them, thinking that fate could be avoided.

Varric likes to think he can avoid his. He seems to have managed it so far.

Cassandra forgets her soulwords. There are more important things at stake.

Bianca’s words are spoken by her husband. Varric defies fate anyway, for a while.

*

It is not until they take refuge from the storm in the Crestwood Hills that he finds how peculiar fate can be.

"Cassandra! I know I’m ravishing but the weather is too cold for you to be stripping off!" Dorian teases, and Varric raises an eyebrow as he turns to watch.

The Seeker rolls her eyes as the armour falls off her shoulders, revealing a vicious set of gashes. “Yes, of course, what was I thinking?” she drawls, beckoning the mage with a jerk of her head.

"Nothing a little ice cannot fix." He holds his hand over the area, squinting to examine her skin. "Ah, how risque!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your soulwords, my dear. Such an _interesting_ greeting.”

She stiffens visibly, and Varric grins, leaning back. “Come on, Tevinter, spill the beans!”

"Dorian, please." Her plea is soft, almost too soft for the dwarf’s ears, and his curiosity is heightened.

"Coy, Seeker?"

"I would prefer if my soulwords were not written into a story," she snaps.

"I would _never_!”

Dorian clears his throat before reciting the words against her skin. “ _I’ve had gentler invitations_.” He smirks. “I knew your toughness extended to the bedroom.”

She shrugs her armour back over her shoulder, hissing at the pain. “Enough of this nonsense.”

Varric’s laugh feels hollow.

*

He waits until Dorian and the Inquisitor fall asleep before shuffling over to the fire where she stares into the flames.

"Seeker."

"I know. I had… forgotten, for a long time. They are just words."

“ _Cassandra_.”

She looks up, eyes narrowing as he unbuttons his shirt. “Stop it. You are being unkind.”

He pulls back his shirt to reveal his own words, emblazoned underneath his ribcage. _I expected him to be uglier_. Her eyes widen, flicking up to meet his.

"You found me and had your men knock me out before I could say a word," he murmurs. "But _you_ said something, didn’t you? You said something as they dragged me away.” He snorts. “Such flattery.”

"Varric, I -"

"Seeker, don’t." He takes a deep breath. "I don’t _care_ about soulwords. It’s like you said - they’re just words. I didn’t need ‘em when I was in love with Bianca, I don’t need ‘em now. So don’t try and use this against me in some power play, okay?”

She nods briefly, her eyes dropping, and he tilts his head in curiosity.

"They… matter to _you_? The hard-ass who’d strike with a shield before stopping to ask the question?”

"Consider the matter dropped," she says softly, turning back to the fire. "They are just words, after all."

He hesitates, the desire to find out more about her passion - that she _had_ passion! - held back by the distaste for the subject of those cursed lines in her skin. In the end, he moves back to his bedroll in silence, though sleep eludes him for a long time.

For the first time in his life, Varric can feel the words burn.


	16. AU Prompt: Partners in crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11: Partners-in-crime AU: Varric/Cassandra

They call her the Seeker - she can find anything you need, but her terms are variable. She has morals that align to nobody else’s plan, letting her faith in the world guide her. You might get your treasure, or you might get a punch to the face. Extortionate prices, but somehow worth it, if luck if on your side.

*

She finds herself on a new case - tracking down a missing shipment. One of Varric’s contacts, reaching out to them in desperation. The product was easy enough to locate. The issue was the item itself.

Varric lights a cigarette. “So what do you want to do with it? We haven’t been paid yet - hey!”

She snatches the cigarette from his lips, crushing it under her heel. “You promised you’d quit.”

“I never _promised_ , per se -“

“You never break a promise.”

“I break plenty,” he huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets defensively.

She bends to meet his eyes, a crooked finger underneath his chin to tip his head back. “Not to me.” Her voice is unusually soft. He swallows, the guilt settling in.

“Things change.”

“Not us. Not this. Partners, remember?” She tilts her head just enough that the light hits her eyes, illuminating her in a way that made him uncomfortable.

“Partners,” he murmurs.”Fine, fine, I’ll get the damned patches tomorrow…”

She smiles, pulling back and turning to the crate of puppies. “Good. Now, about these…”

He loosens his tie, shaking himself from the less appropriate thoughts that threatened to take him away. “We could just give them _back_ to Manny. He’s not a monster.”

"I have yet to see that for myself…"


	17. Phrase prompt: Pen and Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Cassandra, pen and paper. (obviously)

He does not really know what to say when, during a particularly excellent game of Frustrate The Dwarf Until He Bends You Over The Desk (one of his favourite games) she asks him breathlessly to stop as she scrabbles for ink and quill.

"Seeker, what the f-"

"Shush!" she scolds, jotting down in uncharacteristically scrappy script something he cannot quite make out from this angle. He leans forward to read, eliciting a moan from her as he leans _in_. “Varric!”

"What are you doing?"

"Making a - _ha_ \- making a note for your next serial." She throws him a look over her shoulder, the kind of look he has come to adore - wickedness in the curve of her smile and something he cannot quite place in the glint of her eye. "I’m feeling _inspired_.”


	18. Prompt: Argument (SC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "IMAGINE UR OTP GETTING IN A FIGHT AND ONE OF THEM YELLING THAT THEY LOVE THE OTHER ONE AND THEN IT GETS REALLY QUIET i live for shit like that"

Myra can feel it – an argument waiting to happen.

As they say their goodbyes to Bianca, Varric seems less than enthusiastic to see her go. But the look in Cassandra’s eyes speaks of damage even greater, and the Inquisitor worries that this might be the end. A quick glance between the two and she decides that leaving them to work this out right here and now was probably not the best plan, so she nudges Dorian into hanging back with the Seeker as she corrals Varric out of the thaig.

“Not now,” he murmurs, eyes on the ground as they breathe fresh air once more.

“Agreed.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t really want to get into this right now either.” She shoots him a concerned look. “I _will_ , later. But now? Let’s just… talk about something else.”

He considers this before letting out a long sigh. “So I hear Curly’s feeling a lot better these days.”

“His sleep is much easier. Thank you for reaching out to that mage – she really helped.”

“Daisy loves to help where she can. I’m just glad you could read her writing, it tends to be -”

Behind them, a loud boom escapes the thaig, a thick plume of dust buffeting out. Dorian quickly follows, coughing profusely and glaring at Myra.

“Swap.”

“What happened?”

“ _Swap_ ,” he insists, grabbing Varric by the arm and hauling the dwarf off. Myra winces as she turns to the entrance, hoping that Cassandra has not injured herself. But the Seeker emerges without further incident, a steely look in her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Myra asks quietly. “That noise -”

“I apologise,” Cassandra interrupts. “It was a… weak moment. Shall we continue onwards?”

The woman watches her companion for a second before nodding. “As long as -”

“Let us move on, then.”

*

Cassandra does not come to him that evening, nor for the next one. By the time the party reaches Skyhold, Varric is almost sure she will never talk to him again, and it hurts. But as the Inquisitor heads towards the war room, his arm is yanked abruptly towards the stables where Blackwall once resided. His absence is apparently now something of a convenience.

“Ow! Alright, alright!”

“You _promised_ ,” hisses Cassandra, letting go of his arm and turning on him with a fury he has seen before. Instinctively, he pulls his arms up to defend himself. But she does not throw her weight around this time. “You promised, no more secrets, no more lies.”

“That was not my secret to give away, and you know it.” He raises his chin slightly. “Bianca is -”

“Bianca’s identity is not my concern!” she snaps. “My concern is that you and I… all this time, I thought perhaps…”

“Oh, come on, Princess. Use your words.”

“I thought it meant something to you! But all this time, and your heart still lies with her?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, _sure_ , because you never held on to someone you couldn’t get back, right?”

She looks like he had slapped her, and he instantly regrets it as he realises just who she might be holding on to. “He _died_ , Varric!”

“And I’m sorry! But Bianca is _always_ going to be a part of my life, even when I hate her!”

“If that’s how you treat people you _hate_ -”

“Oh, _come_ on!” He kicks out at the table, growling. “I’m not going to stand here and defend myself, alright? If you don’t like it, tough shit!”

“Do you still want _her_?”

“Does it matter? I’m here! I’m with you!”

She laughs, a harsh bark of a noise. “Of course it matters, Varric! I need to know -”

“Seeker -”

“- that I’m not falling in love with someone who won’t love me back!” she finishes, and the minute that the words escape her lips she claps a hand over her mouth in horror.

He stares up at her, stunned. _Love?_ Before he can piece together a cohesive thought, however, she stumbles back, turning abruptly on her heel to get out of his sight as fast as she can, leaving him reeling in her wake.

_Love?_

_Well, shit._

*

It is three more hours before he can summon up the courage to find her.

He has so much he wants to say. He wants to apologise, to take back his harsher words, to promise that Bianca was a firm part of his past, to tell her -

But her shoulders are low, and in the firelight she looks worn, and in the end there is only one thing to say.

“Cassandra?”

She glances up at him, smiling weakly. “It is still strange to hear you call me that, you know. It almost makes me feel as though I am in trouble.”

He crosses over to her, one hand reaching to cup her cheek, and she leans into the touch with a sigh. His thumb trails over her scar. _Maker, he was an idiot._

“Seeker -”

“It is alright,” she whispers, and he can feel the warm tears against his hand. “I can bear it. You do not have to be kind.”

“What? Oh, no no no.” He presses his forehead to hers, willing her to understand. “Seeker, I’m not here to break your heart. I _love_ you. _You_ ,” he emphasises, “not… not anyone else.”

She looks up at him, her hand reaching up to cover his. “Varric?”

He chuckles, closing his eyes. “You know, I’m not half bad with words. But you _undo_ me, and I can’t -”

“I love you.”

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes opening to meet her gaze. She is smiling, finally, really and truly smiling, and he cannot help his own lips upturning. “Well, that’s a relief,” he murmurs, pulling her into a deep kiss.


	19. Prompt: Pregnancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavily pregnant Cassandra, pregnant with her and Varric's child. How she deals with her growing body, Varric's attempts at comforting her

She wants to scream, but settles for throwing things across the room. The loud clattering of her armour is not as satisfying as she had hoped.

Varric looks up from his writing, frowning.

“Well, _that_ was unnecessary.”

“Shut up.”

“Now now, Seeker, use your words. What's bothering you?”

She glares at him, gesturing the growing bump. “What do you think?”

He sighs, placing his quill down and sliding off the chair to come to her. “What specifically is it about the child we so lovingly put together between us, despite the odds?” he asks, hands coming to settle either side of her waist as he presses a kiss to her belly.

“I am... too big,” she says through gritted teeth. “My armour does not fit me.”

“So we'll get you new armour.”

“By the time it has been fitted, I will have outgrown that too.”

“Leather armour, then. Easier to adjust.”

“Varric!”

“Don't raise your voice with me, Princess,” he chides lightly, taking her hands in his. “I know I can't stop you from taking on missions from our mighty Inquisitor, but I'll be damned if I can't stop you from feeling bad about the miracle growing inside you. You're starting to sound as if you regret -”

“No!” Tears spring to her eyes, and she makes a strangled sound as she pulls away, brushing them away angrily. “Never. It is a gift, but... I am struggling with the price.”

A hand rests on her back, guiding her to the bed. “Come on, sit down.” Varric sits at her feet, tugging her boots off. “Talk to me. I know I can't make it easier in some ways, but I'm here. I'm listening.”

She sighs, leaning back on her arms. “I just... I tire of this feeling, Varric. I'm so tired. And I ache, and I do not remember what my feet look like, and – _oh_!” She closes her eyes as the dwarf presses against the arch of her foot, massaging the strain away. “I love you,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

“I want to be a good mother. But I do not remember my own, and I – I do not know how.” She opens her eyes again, smiling slightly. “I do not think I will find it as easy as you will.”

He grins. “Is this about my 'associates'?”

“You do have a tendency to mother your friends,” she admits.

“That I do. But you're not so bad yourself.” He chuckles. “You're not like me, you won't coddle the kid. But you will push them when they need it, like you always do.”

“How can you, of all people, possibly have faith in me? I tried to kill you.”

“Water under the bridge, Seeker. Besides, you're not the same woman that you were.”

“Oh?”

“You're much bigger, for one...” He groans as she kicks him in the shoulder, but the laugh that follows is totally worth it.


	20. Prompt: BABIES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BABIES BABIES BABIES

She is _screaming_.

He is not a praying man, but as another howl carries down the corridor, his hands clasp together.

*

After the fourth hour, the noises stop. Varric re-reads the letter from Aveline again and again, trying his hardest not to throw the parchment down and storm the infirmary. _And you would_ , writes the guard-captain, _you bloody would and she won’t thank you for it._ He swallows, smiling slightly. _She’ll string you up as soon as look at you. She’s a good woman, Varric_.

Josephine emerges from the chamber, smile broad.

“Varric?”

He looks up at her, eyes wide. “Is she -”

“Fine. They’re both fine. Would you like to come and say hello?”

He all but vaults over the table.

Cassandra is bathed in sweat, hair a mess and breathing slow, and he has never been more in love with her. He takes her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Varric?” She sounds tired, more tired than he has ever known her to be.

“Hey, Seeker. How are you doing?”

“She’s beautiful,” she murmurs, mouth curving upwards. “I have never seen a more beautiful creature in my life.”

His throat catches. “She?”

“We have a daughter.”

Behind him, a throat clears. He turns to find Myra, beaming, her arms around a soft bundle.

“A _beautiful_ daughter,” she whispers as she passes him the newborn.

Her eyes are closed, tiny hands gripped into fists already. She has her mother’s face, and he can barely believe that she had only just come into his life. He smiles as Cassandra reaches out to stroke his arm.

“Our daughter. Shit, Seeker, she’s perfect.”

“Varric, _language_.” But she is already falling asleep, and as the Inquisitor leaves he sits on the end of the bed, smiling down at his daughter.

“Hey, little Seeker,” he whispers. “You are going to be the luckiest little princess around, you know that? You have the world’s greatest mother, a whole host of aunts and uncles to keep you busy -”

“And a good man for a father,” murmurs Cassandra, shifting slightly under the covers, “who sounds like he might be about to cry.”

“Shut up, Princess.”

He does cry, of course, but by that time she is fast asleep – as is their daughter.


	21. Art prompt: Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art prompt: Cassandra waking up in Varric's shirt

_Stay, Princess_. He whispers the words, kissing her shoulder as he looks to her in question, and she watches him for a long moment before nodding assent. The smile that blooms on his lips is worth the wait, and as she moves to straddle his legs his hands suddenly seem to be at a loss, and the laughter bubbles from her throat.

He works it out eventually, and she is most grateful for it.

*

The dawn is slow to rise, but the first rays warm Cassandra’s face unexpectedly and she rolls over with a frown. It is a few moments before her memory comes to her aid. _This is Varric’s bed_. The knowledge tickles her, the smile difficult to move, and she sits up wondering where the man himself might be.

The nightshirt slips off her shoulder, and she pulls it back up absentmindedly, the soft feel of the silk light on her skin. _Varric’s shirt_ , she thinks with another jolt. With a yawn, she stretches her arms out, all but shrugging the tiredness from her body.

“If I’d known you were going to steal my shirt, Seeker,” drawls Varric, leaning against the doorway, “I’d have gotten you a fresh one.”

She tilts her head to glare at him, unwilling to say the response forming in her mind. _But this one smells of you_. Far too personal, far too quickly. Instead she fixes him with a smirk.

“It is much nicer than my shirt. Fits me better, too.” As if on cue, the shirt falls off her shoulder again, revealing acres of tantalising skin across her collarbone.

“Damn right it does,” he breathes, crawling up the bed to lay his claim on her flesh.


	22. Phrase Prompt: "Have you ever even done this before?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: "Have you ever even done this before?"

It is surprisingly good _fun_ , he realises, trying to bed the Seeker.

One hand bunched in her hair, the other supporting his weight as he leans back, urging her further down his body, her breath hot against his stomach as she -

“Varric?”

He opens one eye, peering down at her. She tilts her head in confusion.

“Have you… ever even done this before?” he asks hesitantly.

“Done… what, exactly?”

He groans, feeling his cheeks redden in embarrassment. “Shit me, Seeker, I’m sorry. I didn’t even _think_ to ask, I should have -”

Her laughter breaks his train of thought, her hand sliding up his thigh. “Oh, Varric. For a man who has all the words, you are remarkably slow to use them. Ask, and you might receive.”

“You’re playing me! I don’t know whether to be shocked or proud!”

“Try stunned,” she offers, and his hips roll into her touch, breath catching in his throat.

“Fuck _me_ , Princess.”

She laughs again, a husky sound that sends a shiver down his spine. “As you wish.”


	23. Phrase prompt: "I want you..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr: "I want you. In my bed. Now."

She is a goddess, all legs and lips and a laugh that makes him weak at the knees, a laugh that he never gets to hear outside these four walls but that is fine with him – it is his laugh, and his alone to cherish. He will never tire of nights like this.

“I want you.” He punctuates the sentence with a searing kiss, pulling back to add, “naked.” He leans in again, avoiding her lips this time to run his tongue up her neck, earning a soft moan as his mouth settles by her ear. “In my bed.” His teeth drag over the lobe, and her hands grasp at his shirt, tightening around the fabric. “ _Now_.”

He is more than willing to help undress her, of course, but it is always nice to see her flustered and desperate to follow instructions.


	24. Phrase Prompt: "Eventually you will be mine."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> screwthisnaming asked: "Eventually you will be mine" varric/Cassandra I don't care who says it but just imagine if Cassandra says it and Varric just gets so aroused

She is hot against him, humming as he devours her neck.

“Varric, please.”

“ _Fuck_ , Princess, say that again,” he groans.

“Varric.” She pushes him back against the bed, fixing him with a hard stare. “ _Please_.”

He cannot help the smile, cannot help himself as he pulls her hips towards his mouth, tongue praising her and stealing her breath in short shallow gasps. She cries out above him, his name chanted like a prayer as he consumes her heart and soul.

“One day,” she pants, hands against the headboard as he extricates himself from her legs, “one day you’re going to -”

“I’m going to let you blow my brains out,” he promises.

“Eventually…” She lets out a soft laugh. “You _will_ be mine.”

And _that_ sends a thrill down his spine, his breath catching in his throat as she rounds on him with that predatory grin that guarantees a fantastic end to the night…


	25. Phrase prompt: "I dare you..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rabbitsobanoodles asked: Varric/Cassandra; Dorian leans forward, his eyes sparkling impishly. "I dare you to kiss the first person to walk through that door."

Dorian and Varric are well into their cups when the party return. In fact, neither of them really notice the exodus of the Chargers to greet their commander. Instead, they toast their victory as Krem bows out of Diamondback.

“Alright. Let’s make it a little more interesting.” Dorian leans forward, his eyes sparkling impishly. “I dare you to kiss the next person who walks through that door.”

“If you win,” corrects Varric.

“Naturally.”

“Deal. Right back at you if I win.”

The hand is dealt, and the mage’s lip curls as he reveals his pair. Varric groans, the magician easily beating his own pair of queens.

“Shit.”

“Well, well. Fortune favours your affections,” leers Dorian. “Better pray Solas stays away.”

“Shut up.” He waves the barkeep over, downing his drink in short order. “Next person better be a -”

The door opens, and he hesitates for a moment as Dorian laughs loudly.

“Well, it’s a woman, though I’m _not_ sure that’ll aid your cause. Oh, she’s spotted you!” The man’s chair creaks as he leans back. Varric can feel the man’s shit-eating grin boring into the side of his head.

He does not turn around, the footsteps thudding across the room.

“Cassandra! How lovely of you to join us!”

“Dorian. Varric?”

Turning, he looks up at her with a wide smile. “Seeker! Miss me?”

“Your absence was quite refreshing,” she drawls, but her smile belies her words. He reaches for her hand, pulling her into his lap.

“Such kind words,” he murmurs, leaning up to steal a soft kiss from her lips. She lingers, breathing him in for a moment, before pulling back to laugh.

“I suppose you have earned them.”

Dorian’s face is a picture. Varric cannot _wait_ to see everyone else’s.


	26. Phrase prompt: "You're pregnant..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: "You're pregnant, and it's mine."

Their victory seems like a distant memory now. The inevitable paperwork that comes with having to write history seems to go on forever, but Varric can at least appreciate that the Seeker – for once – has to remain still to finish it all.

It is one such afternoon that Cole finds them in the war room, appearing on the table much to the consternation of the advisors.

“Cole!” Josephine reaches for the papers he is sitting on, but he beams at Cassandra, eyes shining brightly.

“Cole are you alright?” the woman asks, reaching out to grab his arm.

“ _Two lost souls in the bright lights of the new world, never asking for more but being given the best challenge yet_ – will you name her after the Inquisitor?”

The silence that follows his words could have swallowed worlds. Varric stares at the kid, glancing to his lover in question. She freezes, eyes wide and hand trembling. It is Cullen that starts.

“Maker’s breath, are you saying -”

“Cassandra?” Leliana hurries around the table, grabbing her by the hands and jolting her from whatever thoughts had claimed her.

“I – I can’t be. I can’t be.”

“She _can’t_ be,” murmurs Varric, hauling himself from his chair. “Trust me. Dwarf.”

“But you _are_ ,” insists Cole, kneeling closer and holding his hands over her abdomen. The soft light that encircles her entrances Varric, the tiny glowing spot pulsing and fading in a slow rhythm. “She doesn’t have the words yet, but she feels – _always feeling, always loved, awash with affection like her mother_ -”

“I need some air.” Varric runs a hand through his hair, swallowing as he heads for the door.

*

She finds him in the gardens, and he manages a smile as she kneels in front of him.

“Seeker.”

“Varric?”

“You can’t be. I’m a dwarf, and you’re not the kind of woman to sleep with another guy.”

“Varric, I am.”

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “So you’re saying, without a trace of irony, you’re pregnant and… it’s mine?”

She nods.

“If I wake up now -”

“Varric, this is not a dream.” She lets out an irritated sigh. “I know it seems unlikely, but – Maker’s sake, this is _real_. This is happening. Are you here or not?”

His eyes snap open, the hurt playing across his face. “Hey, I’m here – don’t ever think I’m _not_ here.”

Her eyes soften, one hand reaching to rest on his shoulder. “You were denying the possibility only moments ago. Do not consider it unreasonable of me to doubt you, just this once.”

“Seeker, I’m all in. You, me and the baby… that’s it. That’s my pot, altogether and all in.”

“Good. Though,” she adds with a slight smile, “please do not gamble our child away.”

He laughs at that, finally really laughs as the cynicism falls away and the hope shines through. “Our kid. Holy shit, Seeker, _our kid_.”


	27. Phrase Prompt: "Do you love me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: "Do you love me?"

She is up with the dawn, but he does not linger in bed anymore – without her, it seems far too big for him. Dressing quickly, he follows her path through the keep, greeting people briefly before moving on.

They do not ask him about her much these days, he realises. Perhaps she was starting to open up to them herself. The thought warms him, in a strangely sad way. He pays it no mind, swinging by the Rookery to pick up his correspondence from Kirkwall.

He had meant to go back, after the final battle, but circumstance and the Seeker kept him from ever truly picking up his bags. He smiles slightly at the sight of the Guard-Captain’s handwriting, of Daisy’s looping script and the unmistakeable scent of Rivaini’s usual paper. With a nod to the new bird-master, he picks up Cassandra’s trail once more.

*

The Inquisitor does not often meet them together, and today appears to be one of those days. He greets her with a smile, and though there is a tightness behind her eyes she manages to mirror the expression.

“You look exhausted.”

“Thanks,” she drawls. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know me. Always fine.” The words feel strange to say, as if they might mean something else. It puzzles him, just as much as the hand on his shoulder puzzles him. But before he can question it, she presents him with the latest report on their next venture, and he spends the rest of the day in a haze of numbers and locations.

*

The evening is cool as he walks back to his quarters. She is waiting, perched on the edge of the bed with a pensive look on her face as she stares out the window.

“Copper for your thoughts, Seeker,” he offers, smiling as he reaches to frame her face in his hands. Her head turns to face him -

\- the burns on the right side of her face harsh against his fingers. She looks up at him, eyes bright and skin reddening.

“Do you love me?” she murmurs, and the memory stings at his mind.

“More than anything,” he breathes, an echo of the statement uttered on the battlefield that day she had fallen, coughing and gasping in his arms as he had screamed for a healer.

“Then let me go,” she implores, and he closes his eyes.

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“Varric -”

“I’m not ready to write the ending.” His eyes open, the tears falling into empty palms. _Gone, always gone by the end of the day_. He draws in a shaking breath, hands falling to his side as he glances up at the desk. The last pages of his book remained, untouched. _Not today_ , he thinks, heading back out to find a barrel of ale to drown himself in.


	28. Phrase prompt: "If you stay quiet..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Not sure if you're still accepting prompts, but I'd love to see a "If you stay quiet, no one will know," with V/C.

He is _really_ pushing his luck, and he knows it.

The thing is – the thing that has _always_ been so, with them – is that he never wants to push her. The Seeker, for all her self-confidence, might still pull back at any second. He does not want to lose this – to lose her. But sometimes, after a drink, a little push just happens anyway.

This time, it is a _literal_ push.

He chuckles as her hands tighten on the rail, hips rocking against his hand.

“Varric -”

“If you stay quiet,” he offers in that teasing sing-song tone, “no-one will know.”

“You say that like it would be preferable to stay quiet,” she murmurs, though there is no threat in her tone.

“Ah, come on, Seeker. Do you _really_ want the whole tavern knowing I have a finger – no,” he corrects, adjusting his hand to the sound of her gasping - “ _two_ fingers fucking you, right above their heads?” She shakes her head abruptly. “Thought not. We should do this more often.”

She swallows, trembling as his free hand pulls her hips back against him, his enjoyment evident. Below them, the Inquisitor and her companions burst into cacophonous laughter, unaware of the activities far above.

“Var-” His name catches in her throat, and he grins as her back pushes against his chest.

“Come on, Princess,” he whispers. “Come for me.”

And she does, legs shaking and white knuckles and a strangled whimper dying in her throat as she tightens around him. For a long moment, his world reduces to the inches between them, heat and shallow breaths and the realisation that he has pushed her to this. It is difficult to be remorseful with his hand still safely buried within her, however.

“Are they looking?” he whispers. She shakes her head, but pulls his hand away regardless. “Seeker?”

“Don’t ‘Seeker’ me.” Grabbing him by the collar, she drags him away from the railing and through the door behind them.

“Cassandra -”

She shoves him backwards and he stumbles against the bed. “Hush,” she warns him, gentler now as she leans against the axe embedded into the frame. “If you stay quiet…”

“Fuck,” he breathes, grinning.


	29. Friend prompt: OH MY GOD BOTH BOTH BOTH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: So there’s a meta piece going around about LIs fighting off a possessed Inquisitor. And thaaaaat got me thinking… redlyrium!addled Varric or possessed Cassandra? Or… or both???  
> crisium: Oh my god. Both. Don’t know how, but. Both. Fighting that horror not just for themselves, but for the other, because they can’t let them down.

He does not remember where the red lyrium had come from, does not recall how it had gotten into his system – all he remembers is the music, low and quiet, and the crying woman in front of him who had been so upset that she had let a demon sideline her.

And Maker, to go up against her like this is impossible – even without his own debilitating situation, he would never wish to take her on. But fight her he must, if the Inquisitor and Dorian were to have a chance of fighting the demon in the Fade.

A rage demon would have been harder to fight, he knows, but a despair demon was truly the worst. It infects her like a sickness, the sorrow in every breath as she steps forward to fight him. She moves with slow determination, shield sluggish but sword-arm strong. She takes wide shots at him, as if she means to cut the lyrium from him by force. He is quick enough to avoid her, but the music is slowing him down. It would not be long before she took off an arm.

"Stop. Seeker, just _stop_.” His knees buckle finally, slow to take his weight as he lands awkwardly on the ground. “You have to stop.”

"I do not remember how," she murmurs, leaning heavily on her sword as her voice reverberates through the demon’s grip.

"You have to - shit, Cassandra, _please_. It’s not too late. Cast that damn thing out.”

"Varric, how did we come to this?"

He sighs, resting his head against his fist. “Fuck knows. Part of me think I’ve been heading towards this since the day I met Hawke, but… that’s not exactly fair.” It sings underneath his skin, a lullaby against the maddening call to arms that his heart is beating out. “I should have walked away. I’ve played my part in too many hero’s tales.”

Beyond, he can see the woman struggling against herself, too consumed with her own battles to pay him much mind. He prays she can win. One of them has to.

“Seeker, you’re better than this. Whatever it promised you… you can manage that on your own. You know that, right? You _have_ to know you’re the most accomplished woman I know. Look at the Inquisition. It owes _everything_ to you.”

She lets out a gasp, and behind her the Veil tears. But it takes too much out of him to bring up his crossbow – the dead weight falls to the floor with a clatter, the tune playing over his fingers and surrounding his arms like marionette strings freshly cut. He is so close to the edge, but he must stay on it, must stay strong enough to help her.

“Cassandra -”

She cries out, falling to her knees as Dorian emerges from the tear, one hand on her shoulder and a litany of Tevinter words falling from his mouth. _Enough_ , thinks Varric. _It was enough_. His eyes close in thanks, head dropping to his chest.

"To the Stone I will always return." The words are foreign, dragged out through a reddening mouth as he closes his eyes. "I was never meant to meet your Maker, Seeker."

"Varric?" Her voice is melodically clear as she draws closer, hands cupping his face. "Varric, stay with me. The healers are here, we can -"

"Hey." He reaches up, stroking her cheek. He can see the red reflected in her eyes, does not need to heed the music to know how truly bad it is. "You look good, Seeker. Not being possessed suits you."

She lets out a laugh, a harsh noise choked with worry. “You look like shit,” she admits.

"Don’t worry. It won’t be for long."

“Varric, listen to me, it’s alright -”

The music all but drowns her out, and he can feel it clawing him back into the darkness. “Sorry,” he breathes, meaning it with every fibre of his being that remains -

_**\- twang** _

Pain shoots through him, the music jarringly interrupted as he cries out, thrust back into himself.

"Holy _shit_ , what the -” He stares at the small knife sticking out of his leg, the Seeker’s hand still tight on the hilt. She glares at him through the tears.

"You do _not_ have permission to die today,” she hisses, and as the healers surround him and she vanishes from his eyeline, he cannot help but be impressed at her dogged refusal to let anything else win.

* * *

 

It takes two weeks for Varric to feel anything like normal again - he privately thinks that he will never _quite_ feel like he once did again, but it is less of a worry than it might have been. Life, as they say, was too short to be _too_ concerned.

"Are you sure?" Myra asks, and even though he knows she would not ask again, she was the fifth person that morning to question him so. He tries not to sound too irritated.

"I will be _fine_. If it gets too much, I promise not to complain too much.”

She smiles softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry. Just… you really scared me.”

He pats her hand. “Won’t do it again.”

"Better not. Who else is going to smash up red lyrium supplies with me?"

"Now _that_ I can definitely manage.” Behind her, he spies the Seeker donning her sword and shield. “Who else is on board?”

“Well, Vivienne wants to visit the city for some supplies, but Dorian threatened to freeze my entire living space if he was left behind…”

“So we have a shopping list,” finishes Cassandra dryly, facing the pair and rolling her eyes. “Inquisitor, need I remind you that magic was made to serve man and _not_ rule over him?”

“When he’s frozen _your_ bed, then you can lecture me.”

Varric chuckles, the first of the day, and reaches for Cassandra’s hand. “Let’s not piss Sparkler off, okay? He did save _both_ our lives.” Kissing her knuckles, he adds, “besides, if I wanted to have sex in the snow, I’d -”

Her spluttering cough and Myra’s cackle feel like home. And whilst it would never be quite the same, he decides that he is close enough.


	30. Couples Meme - first vacation away together

It was _supposed_ to be a holiday.

Just the two of them, he said – him and her and the Nevarran sun and nobody else to bother them. She thinks of that conversation, now. They had been a world away, the pressures of the Inquisition bearing down on them. And now…

_Well_.

She glares as he continues writing yet another letter, the fourth of the morning and one of countless since they had arrived. To whom he wrote today, she could not say. Instead of lingering on the thought, however, today she decides to move past it. Literally. Grabbing her sword, she presses a kiss to his temple before hunting down her boots.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks over his shoulder.

“The weather is too good to enjoy from inside.”

“Without me? I’m hurt.”

She rolls her eyes. “I assumed you were busy.”

He sets his quill down, sliding off the chair to meet her halfway. “I’m done, I’m more than done. Hey, come on.” He reaches for her hand, bringing it to his lips. “I’m sorry, Seeker.”

“I know.” She offers a slight smile, warm despite the tension. “But I cannot compete if someone commands your attention from another country.”

“Oh, that? No, that was a letter to the Inquisitor. I told her we weren’t coming back straight away.” He lets go, reaching for his coat. “Rivaini’ll be in the port by the end of the week, so I’ve booked us in for a nice little cruise down to Kirkwall. Trip down memory lane.”

She stares at him for a moment. “Truly?”

“Sure. And the whole gang’s in town, or will be – I asked ‘em, real nicely.” He smiles, adjusting his collar. “I mean, shit, Seeker, I don’t have much by way of _family_ , but -”

“Oh,” she breathes, dropping the scabbard and closing the gap between them, pulling him into a fierce hug.

“Hey, what’s… what’s wrong?” His hand strokes her back gently, the concern leaving the trace of a waver in his voice.

“Nothing, I…” She pulls back, smile gentle. “I simply fell into old habits. I misjudged you.”

“Easy mistake to make, Princess.” He chuckles at the wince. “Sorry. Wrong country for that name.”

“Definitely.”

“So… you want to go? I mean, we can always cancel -”

“I would be _honoured_ to meet your friends, Varric. And besides,” she adds with a wry smile, hauling herself to her feet, “I would not wish for your enduring memory of me in your home city to be a knife embedded in a book. Unless _I_ am the book, and _you_ are the knife…”

The expression on his face is a picture, and suddenly all thoughts of enjoying the weather are thrown to the wind as he drags her back to bed.


	31. Couple Meme - talking about kids (SC)

“… and then Aunty Hawke said I could come back as many times as I wanted!”

“That’s nice of her. Did you say thank you?”

“Yep!”

“She was quite the charming young lady,” adds the Prince, smiling. “Bodahn was very taken with her.”

“Mister Sandal says I’m en-em-enchant-ning!”

“Did he now?” Varric chuckles as his daughter hugs Sebastian’s legs for the fourth time. “Watch out, Chantry Boy, she might run away to live with you.”

“Ah, she couldn’t stop telling us all about you two. She’d be back within the hour, I’m sure.”

“Uh-huh. Come on, sweetheart, dinner will be waiting.”

“You, ah… you ever think about another, Varric?”

He regards the man thoughtfully. “Maybe? I dunno, she’s a pretty rare shot as it is. Not sure the disappointment of failing would be worth it, you know?”

Sebastian lifts the girl up, smiling as she laughs. “You sure about that?”

* * *

  
They are late, but Cassandra does not mind.

It is later, much later when the words of the Starkhaven Prince come back to Varric’s thoughts, when Cassandra rests her head in his lap as she reads and he mulls it over with a glass of good whiskey.

"Hey, Seeker?”

“Mm?”

“We got pretty lucky.”

She looks up at him, soft eyes and softer smile as she reaches for his hand. 

“Yes, we did.”

“I mean… we couldn’t manage it again. Right?” He looks down at her, shrugging slightly. “Nobody’s that lucky. Least of all us.”

“What if we were?” she asks gently. “Would that be something you would want?”

“Well… yeah.” He smiles. “You know how it is. Having a sibling around… it’s great, right?”

“I suppose so. But we hardly have the best track record with relations.”

“Huh.” He tears his eyes away, and she squeezes his hand. “Good job we’re not that lucky, then.”

She sits up, taking his drink from him and carefully laying aside her book.

“Seeker?”

She looks him dead in the eyes, canting her head slightly. “I want to test our luck.”

He smiles, the first true one of the evening. “Yeah?”

“Of course. Another child with you?” Her eyes light up, and he reaches to pull her in closer. “I would not bet against us.”


	32. Couples Meme - pregnancy sex (mostly sfw)

She is in the kitchen when he comes home, humming an old tavern song that makes him miss Skyhold fiercely. Setting down his pack, he smiles as she potters around, the very picture of domesticity. It still seems strange, this proud warrior somewhat housebound, but he knows that this time, at least, she chose to remain.

“Is she asleep?”

Cassandra turns, and the swell of her stomach appears. “It was something of a fight – I do not have your gift for storytelling. But she seemed placated.” He cannot help letting his eyes drop to the swell of her stomach, one gentle hand grazing down her side to rest on her hip.

“And you?”

“Are you talking to me or my stomach?” she teases, and he looks up with an apologetic smile. “We are well enough.”

“You _look_ fantastic.”

“I feel ill.” At his startled look, she laughs. “Not sick, but… like my body might change again at any moment. I crave one thing after another, with no warning. It is… not how it was the first time.”

“Oh, I dunno, Seeker,” he murmurs, framing her form with his hands, “you were pretty, ah… temperamental back then too. Just… more with _me_ than with cravings.”

“You deserved it, I’m sure,” she says, though there is little threat behind it as she sighs. Varric raises an eyebrow – that was certainly _not_ a sad sigh. He runs a hand over the top of her stomach, fingers lightly grazing underneath her breasts, and she shivers.

“Craving something in particular?” he teases. 

“Do not start something you cannot finish,” she warns in a low voice, and he likes the tone, grinning up at her as his hand trails across her hips and further south.

“Princess, I _always_ finish what I start.”


	33. Fancy words meme - Gargalesthesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gargalesthesia - the sensation caused by tickling.

It honestly had never occurred to him to try before.

 _I mean_ , he reasons, _it’s the Seeker!_ Not exactly cuddly and soft, even with him still. Cassandra was built to endure – muscles that could crush him (and given the right application, he thinks with a grin, had quite enjoyable results) and skin that had worn too much armour to be called tender. Not that he was complaining, of course, but the thought had never struck him for such reasons.

And then he had stumbled onto Lace and Dagna, both breathless and giggling, outside the tavern.

“Ladies.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Scout Harding manages to gasp, and he smiles, holding his hands up.

“Even if it is, my lips are sealed.”

“No, you see – I was experimenting –“ begins Dagna.

“Uh-huh.”

“- trying to get a good skin sample –“

“Aaaaand I’m out –“

“- and it’s not my fault she’s so ticklish!”

He stops mid-turn, head swivelling back to look at the pair before chuckling. 

“ _Ticklish_ , Hightown? Dwarves don’t _get_ ticklish. We’re made from stone, aren’t we?”

Her cheeks pinken at the teasing tone. “Shut up.”

“Are _you_ ticklish, Varric?” Dagna asks with that eager look in her eyes. He almost instinctively backs off.

“Oh, not me. Far as I know, us Tethrases are impervious to such torture.”

“Shame. Bet the Seeker would have _loved_ that,” mutters Lace, grabbing Dagna by the arm and heading into the tavern.

* * *

She is grumpy when she comes to him, all hard angles and rough edged movements, and he smiles gently as he offers his hands up for a massage.

“You are a saint,” she murmurs.

“Paragon,” he points out, patting the edge of the bed. “Come, sit.”

He starts slow, easing his thumbs into the tense muscles, and she melts beneath his ministrations with a soft sigh that warms him intensely. And then, because the thought had been bothering him all afternoon, his hands slide lightly down her shoulder-blades to her waist, fingers wriggling underneath her arms.

She catapults herself off the bed with a delightful shriek, and the grin that spreads across his face hurts his cheeks but it is entirely worth it.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. “Seeker, you’re _ticklish_.”

“No!” she laughs, backing away slowly as he advances on her. “No, just surprised!”

“You. Are. Ticklish.” He dives at her, but she slips away with ease, giggling as he rounds on her again. “Come here and let me have my wicked way with you.”

“Earn it,” she challenges him, and he does, tackling her against the bed before sitting on her hips and tickling her mercilessly, reveling in the peals of laughter that are only silenced when he can take no more of her writhing and pulls her into a fierce kiss.

“Varric, _please_ ,” she breathes against his lips, and he is all too happy to oblige, hips grinding against hers as his fingers retrace their steps, softer now and seeking a much more sensual sound from her lips.


	34. Fancy words meme - Apodyopis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apodyopis - the act of mentally undressing someone.

The problem with the capital, Varric thinks sourly, is how long the days become. On the road, they rest well enough – the early evenings help, their sheer exhaustion helps, but mostly the presence of his lover helps. Even when Dorian insists he cannot possibly share with Myra and separates the two, Varric feels much more at ease knowing how close she is. But here, in the city, there is no camp-fire to huddle by and flirt next to. There is no tent to fumble around in. There is only the nobility’s airs and graces, the droning of their Game, and this dinner they are forced to endure – unending and stiff, with a long table between them and no chance of escaping early.

He sulks, because there is little else to do during the entrées.

The soup course arrives and he catches her eye. She offers a sympathetic smile before she is drawn into another conversation about the Seeker Order, whilst Varric is questioned on his inspiration for his latest serial. Despite his attempts to lighten the mood, most of his neighbours are more concerned with the Inquisitor’s discussions and pay him little attention. In the end, he suffers through his soup in silence.

The fish course leaves a lingering taste in his mouth, and for the first time in years he curses his dwarven stature – if his legs were longer, he might be able to reach Cassandra’s and take comfort in the light touch of her inner thigh shortly before she crushed his toes for trying to distract her. The thought makes him chuckle, a soft sound unnoticed by his hosts but she catches it, quirking an eyebrow up in question. He lacks the talent to mime the whole story, but offers a light hand on his heart before gesturing with a nod to her. She smiles, repeating the move, and he feels closer to her than he has all night.

With the roast comes idle thoughts, another joke about rumps and inspiration for his next novel. He wonders if Cassandra’s room is near his. He wonders if she might be amenable to moving rooms. He wonders, with a smile, if she might want to borrow his shirt to sleep in – one of her more adorable traits, though he would never say so out loud. But the thought of her in his shirt leads to the inevitable – bare shoulders as the fabric slips, revealing tempting skin as she glances over her shoulder at him with those come-hither eyes that promise much more inspiration for his novels…

The clattering of plates jolts him from the reverie, his cheeks warm as the serving elf takes his plate away. His eyes find the Seeker again, thumb and forefinger rubbing the collar of his shirt in question. She looks confused for a moment, but suddenly brightens and nods, and he grins in response.

The salad course is largely ignored in favour of further exploration of the mental image of his lover’s skin – he has spent months mapping every inch of her, and now gladly reveals his hard work in his mind’s eye, the shirt coming over her head with a soft laugh. The scars that decorate her skin, the light imperfections and dark marks that highlight each curve and dip… he remembers them all between sips of wine, his smile broad as other memories come to mind. The slight intake of breath when he kisses her wrist, the soft laugh when he pulls her in close, the moan that escapes when his teeth tease tender skin -

He skips the dessert course, feigning illness and nearly running back to his room. He catches her eye as he leaves, and the wink she throws him assures he would not be alone for long.


	35. Things you said when... asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said when... you thought i was asleep

“Seeker? Are you asleep yet?”

She does not respond, the soft even breathing drawing his attention away from the manuscript in his lap. He smiles, one arm slung over the back of his chair as he turns to watch her. It was a rare sight to catch Cassandra completely relaxed, but one that was becoming more and more frequent for Varric – their late evenings discussing his next literary endeavor always ended up with her dozing and him distracted by her very presence. 

He is long past questioning what this is – he knows he is in serious trouble, knows no good can come of this longing, but…

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning heavily on the back legs of the chair to reach out and brush her hair. The chair has other ideas, however, and he falls to the floor with a loud clatter and very little grace.

She snorts loudly. “Idiot.”

Grimacing, he cranes his head to look up at her. Even from his upside-down vantage point, he can tell she had not truly slept, the smug smirk sitting prettily under bright eyes. He swallows. “Well… shit.”


	36. Things you said when... scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said when... you were scared

She clings to life, trembling and pale and unashamedly desperate. The assassin had struck in the dead of night, but not quick enough to escape the wrath of the Inquisition. A corpse cools in the Chantry.

Her voice is tight, quiet even in the silence around her. “Not yet – please, Maker, not yet, not like this, give him time -”

Leliana murmurs prayers, eyes fixed on the skies awaiting some sign, something to let them know that her message had gotten through, that Varric was coming back. Beside her dearest friend, she feels the cursed weakness of inaction, unable to do anything that might help.

“Leliana?”

“Yes, Cassandra?”

“Is he -” Her breath catches again, and Leliana smiles despite her tears.

“He is coming, I promise you.”

“I am so _cold_ -”

A shout goes up from the battlements, and beyond the door Cullen’s response is bellowed.

“He’s here,” whispers the spymaster. “Cassandra, he’s here.”

“Maker, hear my cry -”

He pushes the door open, practically bowling over the guards as he comes to her side. “Maker’s busy. Will I do?”

“Varric?”

“You look like shit,” he murmurs, kissing her knuckles. “How’s the pain?”

“The poison -”

“I didn’t come all this way to watch you die.” He rummages in his pocket for a vial, uncorking it with ease. “Drink this, Princess.”

“What -”

“Less talking, more drinking. Not the first time I’ve said that.” He smiles slightly as she forces the liquid down, the shivering even more pronounced. “Now lie back, and take it easy. I’m here.”

“I am glad,” she murmurs, her lithe fingers finding his and squeezing.

He wraps both hands around hers, willing his warmth into her. “Five minutes and you haven’t even insulted me. Now I really _am_ worried,” he teases.

“I feared that I would -”

“Never,” he promises. “ _Never_ without me.”


	37. Things you said when... crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things you said when I was crying

Varric comes home to chaos.

The furniture – or what is left of it – litters the room, and the Seeker is nowhere to be found. His precious child, however, has found someone new to dote on her. “Sparkler?” 

The mage looks up from the baby in his arms with a gentle smile. “Hm?”

“I have… _so_ many questions.” He takes a moment to pick one. “Why are you holding my child whilst my wife is mysteriously absent?”

The smile slips, just enough to make him worry. “There was an incident. She’s, ah… out back. Ran out of things to destroy in here, as you can see.”

Varric follows the trail of broken things.

She is crying, and honestly that is the most heartbreaking noise he has ever heard in his life. Arms wrapped around her knees and shoulders shaking with the sobs that wrench from a throat unused to showing such emotion, he does the first thing that springs to mind. Kneeling in front of her, he pulls her into his chest, kissing the top of her head. She resists him, shaking her head.

“Varric, I -”

“Come here, Seeker.”

She takes a deep breath, and he half-fancies she might pull away again, but then she sinks into his embrace, the cries renewed as she clings to him. He can take a wild guess at what happened.

“You lost sight of her, didn’t you?” She nods against him, breathing hard and fast. He chuckles as he strokes her hair. “It’s alright, I’ve dropped her.”

“What?!”

“And is she fine? Damn right she is. They’re surprisingly bouncy at that age, and it’s not like she had far to fall, given my height -”

“ _Varric_!” But she almost laughs as she hits him, and they both know it. He pulls back, cupping her face with one hand as he meets her eyes.

“You’re not a terrible mother, you know. How long was it for, a few seconds? And you found her, and she was fine.”

“What if – what if I am?”

He shakes his head. “Seeker, come on. You’re _not_. You can’t stand the thought that something you did might have hurt our little girl – that’s not what terrible mothers think like.”

“You cannot know that I will not do something else, something worse -”

“And maybe I’ll become an alcoholic despite _you_ asking me to spend less time at the inn, and maybe I’ll leave Bianca lying around in the house despite _you_ making me promise never to bring weapons into our home, and maybe Sparkler’s in there giving our daughter a fireworks show despite _you_ threatening him with a razor if he so much as sparkled once – see?” he adds as she visibly bristles. “You’re tense at even the _idea_!” He laughs, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I’m not, and I don’t, and he wouldn’t dream of it until she’s old enough to appreciate his talent, and that is _all_ because of you.”

She ducks her eyes, still unsure. “But what if -”

“Alright, enough with the stories. That’s my job, not yours.” He hauls himself up, offering his hands to pull her to her feet. “Your job right now is to help me clean up the mess before putting our baby girl to bed.”

“It’s getting cold. I should find her another blanket for tonight.”

He smiles up at her. “See? You’re a wonderful mother, Seeker. Don’t worry.”

She manages a soft smile, her hands tightening around his. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Any time. Let’s go find our princess.”


	38. sin prompt - greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sin prompt: GREED - Something she can’t get enough of

The worst of it, he realises after the fourth night, is that it is entirely his own fault.

They had been taking things slow. He did not want to scare her off, after all, and this… whatever this was, it was new and still more than a little daunting. But he had suggested that she stay the night, and she had agreed quite happily. Falling asleep next to the Seeker had been one of the best nights of his life, and that was literally all they had done, with the exception of some soft kisses and enraptured whispering.

It was good.

But then she had gotten comfortable, and now even affection was hard to come by - all because of that blasted book. She had produced the well-loved copy of Swords and Shields on the second night, something to pass the time as he had finished his letter to his favourite ship captain - oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Rivaini, but this whole Inquisition situation just got more interesting - but by the time he had crawled into bed next to her she was lost in the wondrous world he had created, and was reluctant to come up for air.

He had fallen asleep long before her own tiredness caught up with her.

The third night played out much the same, and by the fourth night he was desperate to salvage some scrap of intimacy, so on a whim he makes an offer.

"You want to what?"

"Let me read it to you," he repeats, and as he thinks it over he realises the idea is not as half-baked as it started. "Actually, let me read you the third one."

Her eyes light up. “Third one?”

"Well, I’m still working on it, but a fresh set of eyes -"

Her lips cut off his words, pressed flush against his own as she pushes him down against the bed. She might be a sucker for stories, he thinks as his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, but at least he wrote the best ones.


	39. AU Prompt: ER/A&E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was so popular, I did it TWICE.

Varric has a bad habit of hanging around the ER.

It is not, as Blondie had suggested with a little distaste in his tone, morbid curiosity. Nor is it, as Rivaini implies with waggling eyebrows and a wink, to pick up cute dwarf nurses. Even Daisy, wide-eyed and hands clasped as she suggests that he might be trawling for inspiration for his latest medical thriller series, is way off the mark. He considers them all as he feeds another quarter into the vending machine.

“You are always here.” The Nevarran doctor with the sharp eyes hugs her clipboard tightly, leaning against the wall.

He shrugs. “So are you.” Which is a ridiculous thing to say to a doctor, but he is hardly in the mood for wit.

“Yes, but I _work_ here. The coat is a total giveaway.”

 _Oh, so she wanted to play?_ “I’ll have you know this is the _height_ of medical fashion.” He gestures to his old duster, and she smiles – a small curve of the lips that he has never seen before. It is an important victory.

“Varric, right?”

“At your service, Doctor Pentaghast.”

“Varric, why do you spend so much time here? You have no relatives here, your close associates all come to meet you here -”

He holds his hand up, silencing her, before punching in buttons and watching the machine whirr. Two cans of pop fall into the bottom and he retrieves them, turning around to face the waiting room. “You see those two kids over there?”

She follows his eyeline, spotting the children. “The Hawke twins. They are… _quite_ the characters.”

He chuckles. “That’s one way of looking at it. Well, their dad isn’t around anymore, and their mom is hooked up to a machine a few rooms away, and when you’re a kid with a sick mom sometimes all you want is a story and five minutes to forget how shitty the world can be. So that’s what I do. I tell ‘em stories and I feed ‘em sugar, and the rest of it doesn’t matter so much.”

She cants her head, watching them as they wrestle underneath the waiting room chairs. “Why them?” she murmurs.

“Why not?” He smiles as the lad is bested by his sister, turning to the doctor. “I met the family a while back, when they moved out here. Feel like I should help, they don’t have anyone else. Look, it gets busy in here and they have a habit of getting in the way. I keep ‘em out the way and they get an hour or two of distraction. If it’s a problem -”

“No. Just a surprise.” She considers them for a moment longer, before turning on her heel to face him once more. “Doctor Montilyet – you know her, yes? She used to be a paediatrician and she still keeps a jar of sweet things in her office, if you have a mind to get on her good side. And Rutherford – that surgeon over there, his office is barely used. Might be the perfect place to set up a den, and he has plenty of spare scrubs you can use. Anyone bothers you, come find me.”

He hesitates, surprised at her offer. “Doc, I -”

“Cassandra,” she offers, a slight smile on her lips. “My mother… she was not as strong as Leandra is. I would have liked a distraction back than.”

“If you get a moment, I can give it to you. The distraction, I mean.” He winks, and she rolls her eyes, making a disgusted noise deep in her throat as she turns away. “Oh, Doc, come on, I meant you could join us in the _fort_ , I swear -”

“Doctor Pentaghast, the new interns are here.”

“Coming.” She glares at the dwarf for a moment, before stooping slightly to kiss his cheek. “You are much better than I gave you credit for,” she admits. “I assumed you were looking for stories for your next book.”

He blinks, before laughing. “Shit, you _read_ that crap?”

Her blush as she backs away is another victory, but the feel of her lips on his cheek is the real prize of the day.


	40. AU Prompt: ER/A&E, part two

He has lain with the kids on the floor too many times not to know the exact shade of the ceiling tiles in the hospital, so when he wakes up to find them above his head, he is more than a little confused.

“Wha –“

And then it hits him – an ache that suffuses through him to the core, the kind of ache that made him wonder if he had gone four rounds with a druffalo. The rest of his question fades into a groan as he tries to curl up.

“Ah, I would not do that if I were you,” offers a voice – Rutherford, the surgeon. He appears at Varric’s side, looking concerned. “You’ve been through the Fade and back, Varric. Take it easy.”

“Literally?”

He smiles slightly. “Not quite.”

“Shit. What happened?”

“Your friend, Merrill? She was being hit on, and the guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He swung at you, and you proceeded to beat seven shades of blue out of each other until he got a lucky shot in with his boots. Cracked a few ribs and gave you a nasty cut, which needed my attention.”

“Ouch.”

“You did quite the number on the other guy. But he was mortified once he’d sobered up, and has since booked himself into rehab. So, apart from your ribs, winners all around.” He straightens, adjusting his glasses slightly. “Anyway, this is Doctor Aclassi –“

“A resident? No offense, but I want an attending. I want –“

“ _She_ assigned him to you. Pentaghast trusts him, and so should you.”

“Well, I don’t. I want a second opinion.”

The surgeon stares at him. “What?”

He grins. “You heard me, Curly. I want a second opinion.”

He hesitates for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering something that sounded distinctly like _Maker give me strength_ before striding to the door and throwing it open.

“Doctor Pentaghast, if you please?”

She does not come into the room directly – craning his neck, he can just about see her trademark braid coiling around her crown – and they talk in that infuriatingly low professional voice that makes it hard to pick up. But the conversation is brief, and eventually Rutherford closes the door and turns around, looking slightly awkward.

“She wants me to tell you that you can request as many second opinions as you like, she’s not going to assign a new doctor to your case, much less herself.”

Varric shakes his head slightly, an all-too-familiar ache in his stomach.

“She also asked me to tell you that you’re an idiot, and that if you ever do anything so stupid again she’ll never speak to you again.” With that, the surgeon shakes his head slightly, muttering again as he leaves the room.

Aclassi sniggers from behind the chart he is feigning to read. Varric feels a little better for it.

“Sorry, kid. No offense meant.”

“Call me Krem. And none taken – I’ve seen you around, you’re the storyteller, right?” The young doctor sits on the edge of the bed, glancing at his chart. “Got any ideas for the tall tale behind your new scar?”

He shuffles up against the pillow. “Well, I had a _few_ ideas…”

* * *

It is late in the evening when he rouses himself from a particularly good drug-induced daydream to find Cassandra Pentaghast at his side. She perches on the edge of the bed, taking his hand with care. Her touch is warming, soft fingers light over his bruised knuckles.

“Hey, Doc.”

“You have a nickname for everyone, yet mine is simply my job. Why?”

He smiles. “Well, I’d call you ‘your Ladyship’ but I know your title isn’t important.”

“You know?”

“You’re a _Pentaghast_ , Doc. It’s not exactly subtle.”

She shrugs slightly, letting the matter drop.

He shifts against the blankets. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I am off the clock, and -”

“Oh, so you’re not here to nurse me back to health?” he teases, though the smile is half-hearted at best. “Come on, Doc, level with me. Why are you staying off my case?”

“I cannot be your doctor,” she murmurs. “It is a huge conflict of interests.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are seldom allowed to treat those closest to us. The bonds of intimacy cloud our judgement.”

He rolls his eyes. “But we’re _not_ close, Doc. Hell, we’re barely _friends_.”

She does not look at him, instead bringing his hand to her lips and pressing the lightest of kisses to his palm. “You are stubborn, reckless, stupid – unbearably kind, insufferably smart, amazingly gentle… I never stood a chance.”

He stares at her, awed. “You… you never said.”

“When I am here, I am a doctor. I do not have time to consider my own feelings. And I suppose I was a little… hesitant. With Leandra getting stronger every day, you have been visiting less often. I assumed you were going back to your normal life.” She smiles slightly. “Did you know she was discharged today? Six months, and she can finally take her children home.”

“Doc –“

“Besides, Krem Aclassi will become one of the finest doctors to grace Skyhold’s corridors. He is remarkably astute and his bedside manner is exceptional.”

She is avoiding it, skirting around the words he so desperately wants her to say. “ _Doc_ –“

She straightens slightly, and he can see it – she is slipping back into the comfort of her professionalism. “You should be out by the end of tomorrow. I took a look at your charts, there are no serious injuries -“

“Sod it,” he mutters, lurching forward despite his groaning ribcage and pressing a kiss to her lips. His stitches protest painfully and he falls back with a wince. But it is entirely worth the look of shock on her face. “Ow,” he adds.

“Varric, your stitches -”

“Will be _fine_ , Doc. Curly did a good job.”

"You should not be so reckless.” But there is another smile on her lips, an impossibly soft expression that is all-new to him - he decides he wants to keep it.

“Then don’t make me do it again,” he grins, crooking a finger to beckon her closer. “Because I will.”

She shakes her head slightly in despair, but assents and shuffles in closer, one hand coming up to brush his hair from his face. “You are an idiot,” she mutters.

“You know, your bedside manner needs some work,” he counters.

“Not your doctor,” she reminds him, silencing any retort he might have with a lingering kiss. One hand around her waist, he keeps her close as he looks up at her.

“Pretty sure you’re _definitely_ mine, Doc.”

And really, he thinks, with her hand finding his, that was worth every bump and bruise along the way.


	41. AU: new neighbours

Cassandra has been living in her apartment for roughly seven hours when the music starts.

“Oh, for the love of the Maker…” 

Well, there was no sense in sitting around and developing a headache. Grabbing a jacket, she heads for the door. Perhaps the local bar was quieter -

Opening the door, she stops. In front of her door there is a man looking decidedly shifty.

“Uh.” Knelt down, two slender pieces of metal in his hands, the man looks up at her sheepishly. “This… isn’t what it looks like.”

She folds her arms, frowning. “Oh?”

“No, see -” Hauling himself up, he pockets the picks, smiling wryly. “That loud music? My roommate, Hawke. He does this, every so often. Throws a ridiculous party that nobody _really_ likes being at, but everyone stays for hours anyway. Seriously cuts into my writing time, so I’d jimmy the lock to this apartment, because it was empty - except the lock changed and I didn’t think that -”

“It was because someone had moved in,” she finishes for him. “So all those story notes I found in the bedroom -”

“Guilty.” And he looks it, despite the smile. “I, ah… I don’t suppose I could have those back?”

She considers him for a long moment, before reaching back into the apartment and producing the bushel of scribbles. “They were pretty good.”

His eyes lighten up for a second, before he covers his enthusiasm with a shrug. “Eh. Just ideas.”

“I like the police captain.”

“Strong female characters are my specialty.”

“Oh?”

He grins again, tilting his head slightly. “You really wanna know? I mean, it’s not exactly Hemingway -”

“I’m, ah… I’m not very good with words,” she admits. “I appreciate those who are.”

The bass from next door blares through the walls, the floorboards vibrating. 

The man thrusts a hand out.

“Varric.”

She shakes it, finally smiling. “Cassandra.”

“Wanna get out of here?”

“ _Maker_ , yes.”


	42. AU Prompt: Long-distance relationship

_Varric,  
_

_Your usual six-page letter was missed this week - my recruits have particularly been enjoying your exploits in Darktown, unsurprisingly, and were anxious to find out more about the Coterie pickpocket who took your watch. I have assured them that you are probably busy torturing said pickpocket with either your snoring or your terrible jokes - both of which, I guaranteed them, are quiet awful.  
_

_Please be alright. I do not have time to storm Kirkwall this week.  
_

_C._

* * *

_Seeker,  
_

_Pass my regards to your men, and my apologies - time has been too short to regale your merry crew with my adventures. Truth be told, I barely have the time to write this, but Kirkwall couldn’t handle you when you’re all riled up and emotional, so I thought I should tell you that, yes, I’m fine. Just tired, but what’s new there?  
_

_Daisy sends her love, and Aveline told me to thank you for the tip regarding the lyrium smuggling ring - seven arrests in one night.  
_

_Shit, Seeker, I miss you.  
_

_— V.T._

* * *

_Varric,  
_

_Please pass on my regards to Merrill and the Guard-Captain. I trust that you are not dragging them into too much trouble.  
_

_Rumours have reached us that you are working on your next novel. I do not hold much stock in gossip, but… if this is true, please stop. Time that you are writing could be better spent resting, and though I eagerly await your next great work I would not sacrifice your wellbeing for it.  
_

_I miss you terribly. My evenings are much less… fun.  
_

_C._

* * *

_Seeker,  
_

_I’m fine, I promise. And rumours of my literary return are greatly overstated - I did one dramatic reading whilst very drunk, that was it. Good to know the people are still hungry for me, though.  
_

_Speaking of which…  
_

_I know what you mean. There’s a little less joy to my days when I remember that I won’t get to come home and find you naked but for a sheet in my bed, smiling that insufferably attractive smirk as you watch me over the edge of your book. I swear, if you were here right now I’d -  
_

_You, uh… you might not want to read this one out to the troops.  
_

_— V.T._


	43. AU Prompt: cop/speeding ticket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officer Tethras can arrest me anytime. Just sayin'.

The sirens only sound for a brief second, a warning to the driver of the red Ferrari that is heeded with little reluctance. Both cars pull into the side of the road - or what passes for a road in these parts; the Hissing Wastes, they were once called. Now little more than a dust trail between cities. Lights off, the police car’s engine ticks over in the heat of the midday sun, its occupant taking a deep breath before stepping into the hazy air.

Fingers drum impatiently on the steering wheel. Unbelievable… and on a weekday, too. Did the local authorities _really_ have nothing else to do with their time?

**Tap tap.**

The window - automatic, of course - winds down.

“I’m sorry, _Officer_ , was I speeding?” The drawl is borderline sarcastic, eyes practically rolling.

"Now now,” smiles the officer, one arm leaning heavily on the car roof as he adjusts his hat with his thumb, “that’s no way to talk to the man who’s about to change your life, Princess.”

“I am hardly a princess,” Cassandra snorts.

“Do you know how fast you were going?”

“Look, Officer… Tethras -”

“Call me Varric.”

“Varric. I may have been going a little over the limit, but -”

“A _little_ , she says.”

”- but I have a perfectly good explanation -“

"They _always_ do.”

”- and I think we can come to some… arrangement.”

He chuckles. “Oh, Princess. If I had a sovereign for every time I’d heard that, I’d be a rich son of a bitch indeed.” Pulling out his ticketbook, he gestures for her to start. “Pray tell me this perfect explanation.”

She shuffles in her seat slightly, back straightening. “I am an officer of the Inquisition, on -“

"A mission for Trevelyan herself? Funny, a guy said that last week.”

“But I am!”

“And I’m _sure_ you have appropriate identification. Continue.”

"I do!” She reaches for her bag, pulling out a badge and offering it to him. He regards it for a long moment - he had seen enough fakes to know the real deal. Still…

“Hm. Seeker Pentaghast, huh? You look a lot taller in the papers.”

“I - I’m sat in a _car_.” She is getting more and more exasperated, and as he hands back her badge she looks up at him with wide eyes. “Look, Varric -“

"Princess, I’ve heard enough.” He slides the pencil from his ear, making a note on the pad. “Now, I don’t know Inquisitor agents from well-to-do busybodies with too much money to spend on fancy cars -”

The disgusted noise from the car makes him smirk.

”- but as an officer of the law, I have a duty to uphold that law.” Ripping off the ticket, he hands it to her. “I think you’ll find the law more than fair.”

“Please, I cannot -”

“More. Than. Fair.” He winks, tipping his hat once more, before heading back to his car. “ _… two, three, four, fiv-_ ”

"Hey!” Behind him, the car door slams, high heels clacking on the asphalt. 

“What is this?”

He turns to face her - damn, she really is that tall - and grins. “What is what?”

She waves the ticket in his face. “This is - this is a phone number, and a restaurant name? And a time?”

“Friday night, six o’clock,” he confirms. “Unless you’d rather pay the thousand-sovereign fine, of course -”

“Seriously?”

“Naah, I’m not that much of a hardass. You can go.”

“Do you do this a lot?” she demands, eyes narrowing, and he laughs outright at that.

“Fuck no, Princess! Usually I rap people on the knuckles. But you seem like you could use a night off - you’re wound tighter than my boss’s asshole, and you’re clearly a woman under a lot of pressure. So, I figure, why not try it? You might like it.”

She stares at him for a long moment, and he shrugs, turning again to head to his car. And then he hears it - a laugh, short and abrupt, and he glances over his shoulder to see her covering a surprised smile with her hand. He grins, knowing he has won.

“Six o’clock, Princess. See you there.”


	44. AU prompt: pregnancy after a one-night stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of two!

Like a thunderstorm, slow to brew and quick to strike.  
  
“Varric. Enjoying the festivities?”

“Seeker, I was _just_ talking about you! Congratulations on a job well done.”

"A job - what?”

“This whole Inquisition! You brought ‘em all together, greased the wheels. If it wasn’t for you, we’d all be dead.”

“I - I don’t think -”

“Oh, come on, Seeker. You did good. Say thank you so we can move on.”

“… thank you.”

“See? Was that -”

“For staying.”

“Huh?”

“You did not have to stay, Varric. Especially when Hawke left to - well, I am… glad. That you stayed.”

“Are you serious? Is this part of some elaborate joke at my expense? Because if it is, colour me _impressed_.”

"Is it so unbelievable?”

“… they asked you to be the new Divine, didn’t they?”

“How could you _possibly_ -“

"Seeker, you’re saying _goodbye_.”

"I… I suppose I am.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No. You don’t get to fob _me_ off with a shitty ‘thanks Varric’ and a smile you don’t mean, alright?”

"Varric, I - ow! Let go of my arm - where are you -”

“Unless you want everyone watching _\- ‘scuse us -_ I suggest you lower your tone.”

“Varric, let _go_ \- Maker, the Chantry? Really? You want heartfelt words in the one place you never set foot?”

"I want you to understand how serious I am when I say this. Plus, the stools here are sturdier.”

“The stools are - why must you always speak in riddles?”

” _Cassandra_.”

“… oh. I see now. But why -”

“I know you don’t - shit, Seeker, I _know_ what being Divine means. What you’re having to give up. But I’m not gonna let you disappear into the Chantry without - _mmf! Mm… mmmm_. Damn, I should have done this months ago.”

"I might have loved you, you idiot, if only I had opened my eyes a little wider.”

“If wishes were kisses, Seeker. C’mere. You’ll be _great_. Amazing. I might even make it to a service, one of these days.”

"Bullshit.”

“For you? I might.”

“Will you return to Kirkwall?”

“Probably. It’ll be a lot less fun around here without you, and the city still needs any help it can get.”

“I will send aid as soon as I am able.”

“One of the perks of snogging the Divine - ow!”

“Smartass.”

“You’ve never complained before!”

“I did. _Repeatedly_.”

"You’ve got me there.”

“I… should not have. I truly enjoyed our discussions, Varric. Please remember that.”

“You make it sound like I’m never going to see you again.”

“Varric…”

“Hey. Come on, surely even the _Divine_ gets a holiday or… or something.”

"Divine Victoria will get no such free time.”

“Victoria? What’s wrong with Cassandra?”

“Such is the way of the Chantry.”

“But Victoria is so… not _you_.”

"Varric -”

“You won’t even _be_ you, will you? This really is… this is it.”

"Kiss me. Please. I -”

Like a sandstorm, passion and fury and gone in the morning. 

* * *

Three months into Varric’s return, the heralds proclaim the news. Divine Victoria, first of her name, ascends to lead the Chantry into the bright new morning. Her speech, transcribed and passed around as gospel, reeks of the Nightingale’s hand - Varric was aware that the Seeker would have had help, but is still surprised to find her inaugural words foreign to her. He wonders how she is faring. Perhaps, in a few months, when the Merchant’s Guild were less rowdy, he would take a trip to Orlais.

Of course, the news is swiftly followed by the arrival of Inquisition soldiers, sent as a favour to the new Divine to aid in the reconstruction work. With two full squads joining the one he had managed to wrangle upon his own leaving, Varric estimates the work in the Alienage would be done by the end of the season. Daisy is overjoyed, and a merry night in the inn was had by all.

The morning brings regret, aching and hollow and a reminder that he was not getting any younger, along with a quiet knock at the door.

“By command of the Hand of the Divine, open up!”

“Hand of the - oh, come _on_ , Nightingale…” Rolling awkwardly from the bed, he grabs trousers and shuffles into them, opening the door wide. “Seriously, Leliana, you don’t have to -” The words hang unfinished in the air as he stares up at the woman.

"Hello Varric,” murmurs Cassandra, wearing simple travelling leathers and hair only a little longer than when he last saw her. Turning to the guards at her shoulder, she waves them off, watching as they retreat to a tactical distance down the stairs.

“Seeker? Wait, no, Divine now. I thought you didn’t get holidays.”

“Might I -”

“Oh, sure, come in.” He waves her through, suddenly very conscious of his lack of shirt. Grabbing one from the back of a chair, he tugs it on as he shuffles to make a fire. “Can I get you a drink? I don’t have much by way of -”

“Varric.”

He stops, holding his hands up with a slight smile that he did not quite feel. “Sure, sure, you’re here for a reason, right? Should I be sitting down?”

She nods, and he hesitates for only a moment, pouring himself a brandy as he falls into his old familiar chair.

“I am not the Divine, as you might have noticed,” she starts.

“You’re _not_?”

"I am not.”

“Seeke-shit, what do I even _call_ you, then?”

She laughs, and he cannot help the smile that follows it, glad to hear her voice and bask in her presence. “Whatever you wish, Varric. It has always been your way.”

"Alright. So you’re _not_ the Divine, _despite_ the fact that you’ve been in Orlais going through the motions for the last few months… why? And who took your place? Is this a conspiracy?” He leans forward, eyes lighting up. “Are we going to take back the Sunburst Throne?”

“Oh, Maker, nothing so fanciful!” She laughs again. “No, I simply failed the final test. Leliana was the natural choice to replace me, and I wish her well - we spent a considerable amount of time discussing the issues we both had with the Chantry as it stands, and I believe in my heart that she will serve the people well.”

"Oh.” He leans back. “Well, that was anti-climactic. You failed a test? Let me guess, your handwriting wasn’t neat enough.”

“Not quite.” Her cheeks redden, and Varric is immediately reminded of their last meeting, of rosy-cheeked undressing and tearful kisses in the face of a last goodbye. “It was a physical examination. And I did not meet the requirements -”

“Wait, they judged your _body_?”

"Varric -”

“That’s fucked up. You’re in the _best_ shape of your life, in every possible way. Did they disapprove of your scars? Your flawless battle stance? Your -“

” _Varric_.” She reaches for his hands, kneeling in front of his chair. “Varric, I’m pregnant.”

The world shrinks away quite abruptly, and all he can think to do is stare. “… what?”

"I am… with child. And the idea of a Divine with a bastard - far too radical.”

“But you - I mean, you’ve been under their watchful eyes for months.”

“Yes, Varric.”

“Not a second to yourself, she said.”

“Who - oh, Leliana said she wrote to you. Yes, I was occupied every waking moment of the day.”

“But you - I mean -”

“Varric, would it help if I spelt it out?” she drawls, smiling gently, and it hits him like a sledgehammer to the chest. His child. _His child_.

“Shit,” he breathes, fingers tightening around hers. “You’re sure?”

“I was examined by the finest healers in Thedas. I could not be more sure.” He nods mutely, and she reaches up to cup his face lightly. “Varric, I do not mean to disrupt your life here. I do not hold you to any obligations, or any -”

Pushing himself up, he shakes his head slightly, laughing as he brushes past her. “If you’re about to tell me that you’re comfortable raising our kid on your own, save it.” Reaching the door, he turns the key very deliberately, before turning to face her with a wry smile. “Open your eyes a little wider, Seeker. You came back, I’m not about to let you go again.”


	45. AU prompt: pregnancy after a one-night stand, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it goes...

Pushing himself up, he shakes his head slightly, laughing as he brushes past her. “If you’re about to tell me that you’re comfortable raising our kid on your own, save it.” Reaching the door, he turns the key very deliberately, before turning to face her with a wry smile. “Open your eyes a little wider, Seeker. You came back, I’m not about to let you go again.”

She smiles, straightening up. “Seeker again, I see.”

“Old habits.”

“I suppose.” The smile is quick to fade. “Though I am not sure you should give me that title. I do not know… well. I do not know what comes next, with such disgrace on my shoulders.”

“Disgrace?”

“I was to be the Divine, Most Holy in word and deed, shaping the Chantry and giving it back to the people. And now… now I do not know what I am.” She turns to face the window, the morning sun weak in the bleakness of the city. “I cannot go back to the Seekers, surely, not under such shameful circumstances.”

 _Shameful circumstances_. It is like a kick to the stomach, his eyes dropping to the ground. So he had misread her intentions, it seemed.

“I have dedicated my life to the Chantry. What am I, without it?” She sounds far away, lost. Varric wonders where she is.

“Seeker, you’re still… _you_ , alright?” Pushing down his disappointment, he focuses on her. “Whatever cause you champion, you’re still that same straight-shooting, feisty moral compass that brought about the Inquisition and took out half the bear population of Ferelden.” She chuckles at that, and he presses on. “Just because the Chantry left you high and dry, doesn’t mean the Maker did.”

“Varric -”

“No, _listen_.” And he is almost angry now, angry at the high clerics who dared judge one of their most faithful, angry at the world for shaping her into someone who would feel shame at the idea of carrying a child, _his_ child, and force her to lose her way. “There are people out there who _need_ someone like you, someone who can rally them and get them on the right path again. And you’ll find them, because that’s what you’re good at. But right now you need to focus on _you_. And… shit, I don’t know, we can find a good enough healer to - to help you, if that’s what you want.”

She blinks, frowning slightly. “A healer?  But I am fine, I do not -” And then she stops, the meaning of his words clicking into place. He has always been good at hiding his true feelings, but Cassandra is an open book - her arms wrap around herself, shoulders at sharp angles and the sheer hurt seeping through her eyes. She is fury, in  a way he has not seen in a very long time, and he can almost hear her heart screaming. “Never,” she rasps, “ _never_! How could you _even_ -”

“You said you were ashamed, you keep talking about disgrace! I thought -” He stops himself, taking a deep breath as he closes his eyes. “I _thought_ you were ashamed of… the baby. Of how the baby came to be. Andraste’s ass, I’m _sorry_.”

“I would _never_ \- I could not.” Hands tightening around her skin, she shakes her head slightly. “Never.”

“Cassandra, I…” He stops again, shoulders slumping slightly. “I will support you in _any_ way that you’ll let me. But I don’t know what you _want_.”

She stares across the room at him, the void between them filled with confusion and uncertainty and the sound of her name betraying the man’s fear. His eyes do not quite meet hers, and for the first time since her arrival she realises that neither of them have any true idea of where they stand - after all, it had only been one night, one final heartfelt goodbye. And now…

She sinks into his chair, grip loosening as she lets out an abrupt laugh. _Maker, who could have possibly seen this coming?_

“Well… at least we know it’ll be the most attractive kid in all of Thedas,” he points out, breaking the tension. She smiles at him, a wry twist of the lips that feels familiar around him.

“With that much chest hair? I pray it is not a girl.”

“Hey, she’ll bear it with pride, just like me. Anyone who says otherwise will have Bianca to deal with.” And his patter is back, their dynamic like a comfortable pair of boots - a little worn at the edges but easier to work with. She leans back into the chair, letting out a long sigh, and he takes her relaxed posture as permission to cross the room, perching on the arm of her chair as she rests her head against his shoulder.

“Was it just… Varric, was it only ever a goodbye fling?”

He chuckles. “Come on, Seeker, you know me. If it weren’t for all the self-flaggelation from you and the ridiculous hangover I’m nursing, this could be a scene from one of my stories.”

“Right down to the dramatic twist, I suppose… did you ever finish that book?”

“Hm?”

“The one you were writing when I left. The one about the handsome dwarf and the righteous Divine agent who -” And then it clicks, and she could kick herself for not seeing it before. She pulls away from him to stare up at him. “Varric, you wrote a book about me?”

He winces slightly at having been found out. “Shit, I was hoping you weren’t paying attention when I told Sparkler about that.”

“I… I am not entirely sure I was, clearly.” Reaching up to squeeze his shoulder, she shakes her head slightly. “You wrote… us?”

“What can I say, Seeker?” He smiles, brushing her cheek with the back of his knuckles lightly. “You’re an inspiration.”

And he does not know what he was expecting, but the tremble in her shoulders betrays her as her face falls and a sharp cry slips from her lips. He pulls her in tightly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she cries into his chest.

“Hey now, come on. It wasn’t a terrible story, really. Just… didn’t happen that way. These things never do. Look at us now, eh, Seeker?” He smiles as he presses a kiss to her head. “Look, I don’t know what you do next. But I’m here for you, alright? Always. You need me, just… let me know.”

He does not quite catch her response, but as her breathing calms and her hands loosen their grip on his shirt, he thinks it might all work out okay.

“You’re strong, Seeker. You always have been. You can weather whatever the world throws at you.”

Her hands slide up his shirt, curling around the back of his neck, soft skin brushing against his hair.

“And you never know, our kid might -”

But his sentiments are silenced as he is pulled sharply off the chair’s arm and into her lap, lips crushed against her own and his hands desperately seeking purchase on her shoulders. Maker, he had _dreamt_ of this for months, but never had he expected -

She pulls away, forehead resting against his as she takes a deep breath. “I do not know what comes next,” she murmurs, “but I know I want you to be with me. With us.”

“I’m here.” He frames her face with his hands, smiling up at her. “Seeker, I’m here, whatever you need. We’ve got time. We can figure this out.”

“Might I… stay?”

“As long as you like.”

She hums against him, the sound vibrating against his hands. “You may come to regret such an offer.”

He laughs at that, tilting his head to press soft kisses against her scars. “Hey, kid’s gotta have a home.”

She pulls a face. “We are _not_ bringing up our child in a tavern.”

“Aren’t _we_?” he asks, emphasising the word with a grin against her skin.

Her hands tease at his collar, the smile evident in her voice. “No, _we_ are not… if you will have me.”

“You should read my book,” he murmurs against her ear, smiling as her legs shift beneath him. “I make it pretty clear that I’d have you, any time.”

“You know what I mean!”

“No, seriously -” and he reaches over to the desk, grasping for the manuscript that lay there, “I was pretty overt about it. Where is it… ah! ‘He took her hand in his, the warmth of his love for her suffusing through and bringing down her guard long enough for him to voice his desires.’ See?”

She stares at him, eyebrows raised. “You.. even then, you felt this way?”

“Seeker, I grew to love you fairly quickly. I’m not - shit, I don’t expect you to love me _back_ any time soon, but… I hope you’ll grow to love me too.” Lowering the papers, he shrugs. “You said you might, once upon a time.”

Her face blooms, the smile spreading as she takes the manuscript from him and drops it to the floor. “If only I had opened my eyes wider,” she recalls. “Perhaps it is time I did so.”

And though she does not know the path ahead of her, as her lips once again meet his she does not fear the unknown.


	46. Tumblr prompt: Massages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> Cassandra/Varric fluff, maybe involving a massage? I never shipped this until recently. This is your fault! (I love it don't ever stop writing)

He all but limps in, battered and bruised but triumphant as the bottle swings between his fingers with a worrying precariousness, and Cassandra looks up from the pages of her book with a frown.

“Varric, what happened?”

“What are you doing here, Seeker? Not that I’m not pleased to see you spread out on my bed,” he adds with a wink, and she rolls her eyes as her legs curl underneath her once more, hand patting the edge of the bed.

“Come. Sit.”

“Yes ma’am.” In actual fact, he stumbles onto the bed, wincing as the bottle rolls out of his grip and under the bed. “Damn.”

She rolls her eyes, cracking her knuckles before moving behind him, hands light on his shoulders. “Varric, when will you learn not to take on too much?”

He chuckles, rolling his shoulders underneath her touch as she starts to massage him. “That’s rich, coming fro-aaahhh _hahahaaandrastesasskeepdoingthat._ “ Under her ministrations, his eyes close and his muscles sing, body falling heavily against the bed as he tucks his arms underneath his head.

She leans down to press a kiss to his temple. “Better?”

” _Mmm_. Keep going?”

"Of course.” Straddling his hips, she sets to work on his back, slow and methodical with her fingers easily finding the worst of his knots. “If you performed a proper warm up, you would not feel so lousy afterwards.”

He grumbles wordlessly into the crook of his elbow, though there is no heat to it. “Hate when you’re right.”

“Then you must hate me a great deal, for I am often right.”

“Aw, come on, Seeker, you know what I me- _eeeeeaaahhhh_ , that’s amazing, how are you even _doing_ that?”

“I have fought alongside many warriors in my time, Varric. I have learnt much.”

"Could you make that sound a little less… _sexy_?”

She chuckles, thighs squeezing him, and he groans underneath her.

"That’s a no, then.”

” _Behave_.”

“You love it when I don’t.” And though he is sure he could rise to the bait and quite thoroughly ravish her here and now, he is warm and more relaxed than he has felt in days. His eyes refuse to open, his vocabulary rather reduced to soft hums of contentment.

Her hands slow, gentle against the base of his spine as she moves above him. “You should rest,” she murmurs, and he has just enough energy to roll onto his mercifully-ache-free back and pull her down to meet him.

“Stay,” he breathes, “stay with me.”

She smiles down at him, reaching to brush his hair from his face. “Of course.”

And if she says anything else, he does not recall it - his body tumbling headlong into sleep with joyous abandon.


	47. AU prompt: fake relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://40.media.tumblr.com/efaa0bc576bc4917586b8126b6a1e274/tumblr_n87wlf2y2d1teys98o1_1280.jpg - the dress in question

One more night.

Varric takes a deep breath, adjusting the collar of the blasted Inquisition formal uniform. He was sick of playing this part, and as soon as the Nevarran ambassador left in the morning, so would he - rebuilding Kirkwall brick by brick, constantly reminded of everything he had lost in that city? He would take that any day over another _second_ of pretending to be betrothed to the Seeker for the sake of saving her from an arranged marriage.

Stupid Inquisitor and her loose tongue. Stupid bloody Nevarran ambassador and the need for this ridiculous lie. Stupid bloody sodding Seeker and her damned laugh and her twice-damned lips and her thrice-damned _legs_ -

He groans, running a hand over his face. _Stupid_. He had not asked for this, had been quite happy to commit these feelings to another book, another strong female character to write a happy ending for, another life he could not have.

A soft knock at the door interrupts his reverie.

“Varric? Are you ready?”

“Come in, Seeker.”

She is talking, but as he turns to face her the words fade into nothingness, her sheer radiant beauty highlighted in the outfit Josephine had chosen for her to wear. It was… well, it was a dress like no other, on a woman without equal; rich purple satin hanging off her hips and regathering at her neck underneath shining silver clasps adorned with shimmering white jewels, it was truly magnificent. But the real beauty was in the woman revealed - commanding shoulders laid bare, taut waist tempting from beneath fluid fabric, the blades of her back flexing with each movement of her arms…

Varric swallows. Hard.

“Uh.”

She glances over her shoulder at him as she adjusts the silver cuff on her bicep. “Are you quite alright, Varric?”

“No, I’m - look, I need to talk to you.”

“Can it wait? We are expected -”

“No, it really can’t.” He closes his eyes, praying to some unknown force for the right words. “Seeker, I -”

“Maker’s breath, Varric, your sash - come _here_.” And before he can say another word she is crossing the room, a curt _tch_ under her breath as light fingers tug at the fabric. She is inches away from him, showing more skin than he could ever hope to see, and it is dizzyingly intoxicating.

"Seeker -” His hands grasp at hers, stilling her. “Please, _Cassandra_ … stop.”

She frowns slightly at the use of her actual name, staring at him for a long moment before the realisation hits her. And as her eyes widen, he knows this is it - this is the moment in which his fate is sealed. With a quick glance at the door - _duster hanging off the chair, one bag already half-packed, he could be in Amaranthine by dawn if he were lucky_ \- he takes a deep breath.

"I can’t - I can’t do this. Not anymore. I figured one more night and we’d all be home free, but… this isn’t working. I can’t play pretend like this is nothing. I might be a liar, but I’m an honest one.”

“Varric…” Her tone is soft, perhaps even affectionate - more likely pitying. He shakes his head slightly.

“Look at you. All softness and curves, and I _still_ feel like you could kick my ass. That’s a talent, Seeker.” He smiles, bringing her hands to his lips. “Never lose that.” The ghost of a kiss to her knuckles, words he will never say out loud, not even in this small sanctuary - not to her.

"Don’t.”

Letting go, he shrugs her off as he turns to begin the arduous process of arranging his letters and writings. “It’s better this way, trust me. And I know you’re probably sick of the sight of me, even before this whole charade.” 

“Varric, _don’t_.” And her voice cracks, just a little, just enough to make him stop. “I don’t… I don’t want you to go.”

"Seeker -”

“This has been… difficult, for both of us, but I am…” He can practically hear her weighing her words. “Glad. I am glad that it was you. Even if it was a fiction, it was… nice, just to pretend.”

“But I’m _not_ pretending. Not anymore. Look, whatever you think of me -” And he turns, words dying in his throat at the look on her face. He had seen that look not ten minutes ago, on his own face in the mirror. Resignation, sorrow and just a tiny hint of regret.

"If you go, then it is over… always. And I do not… what I mean to say is that I - I would like to…”

His body moves before the thought comes to him, one arm around her waist as the other scoops underneath her legs, sweeping her off her feet and letting her fall easily into his grasp. Her bare shoulder is warm against his clothing, her lips wonderfully parted with a gasp and close, closer than they had been all week. He could count her eyelashes if he were not so occupied with her presence.

He swallows again. “You’d like to… what?”

She blinks, huge eyes uncertain in the candlelight, but her hands creep around his shoulders, arms wrapping delicately around his neck and pulling her in closer. “Varric…”

“Seeker -”

She kisses him, a slow meeting of still-hesitant lips that tremble , and pulls away before he can respond. “Stay.”

He does not need any further encouragement, arm tightening around her to tilt her body into his as his mouth crashes against hers with a passion overflowing. Her hands grip at his back, a keening whine escaping her throat as she responds in kind. 

Somehow they make it to the bed, him stumbling and her fumbling and everything they had locked away between stolen glances and wishful thinking coming to a head as they tumble together, separating only long enough for air.

“You said -”

“I lied -”

His hand finds hers, fingers interlacing as his teeth drag over her bare shoulder, and she bucks underneath his touch.

“Please, I _need_ -“

And then fate intervenes, a loud and hurried knocking at the door that cannot be ignored. With a growl, Varric lifts his head.

"Not here, fuck off!”

“Mister Tethras, ser?” The desperate voice of a guardsman worms through the door. “I was told to find -”

” _FUCK OFF!_ ”

The loud clattering of the guardsman assumedly doing just that echoes through the room, and the  dwarf lets out a long sigh as he rests his head on her shoulder. She shakes beneath him, one hand clamped over her mouth to stop the laughter. With a wry smile he raises his head to meet her gaze. “What’s so funny?”

“That was James - Jim,” she corrects, “the poor man, he has the worst timing in all of Skyhold. Oh, Maker, poor Jim!”

“The guy who walked in on Curly and our fearless leader?”

“And Dorian and the Bull, if rumours are to be believed. He was apparently quite blinded.”

“Alright, now I feel a little bad,” Varric admits, but the feeling is fleeting as he watches her hand reach out to stroke his cheek. “Only a little.”

“Will you - will you stay?” she asks quietly, and he nods into her touch, closing his eyes.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he murmurs.


	48. Phrase Prompt: "I almost lost you."

In retrospect, fighting the giant was a terrible idea. Varric makes a mental note to avoid such endeavors in the future. Thankfully, he had a trio of strong women to back him up – or was he backing them up?

“Remind me never to suggest bringing you with us again!” he yells, ducking between the creature’s legs. Firing a volley of ice to cover him, Hawke can only laugh.

“Oh, you know me – I would have only done the same at Skyhold!”

“That’s _not_ comforting!” Myra says through gritted teeth, adjusting her grip on the axe before swinging for a kneecap. The giant takes offense at their continued persistence, long fingers grasping at a young tree and uprooting it before swinging it around its head and bringing it sharply down on the trio.

Myra dives left, Hawke rolls right. Varric has little time to register the actions, instinctively curling around Bianca.

_Clang._

A shower of dirt and roots cover him as he opens his eyes to find the Seeker on bended knee, shield high enough to break the impact.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. She turns her head slightly to catch his eye, face grim.

“ _Move_.”

Beyond them, he can hear Hawke readying a barrage of fire and Myra’s feet thudding as she runs at the beast. Cassandra straightens, shoving the tree stump off her with a growl, and Varric launches himself backwards, aiming for the brute’s head.

Three attacks come from all sides, and the giant roars – the sound vibrating Varric’s ribcage uncomfortably hard – before swinging wildly, catching the Seeker in the chest and throwing her free of the chaos and –

Straight over the edge of the cliff.

“NO!”

As the giant stumbles, Myra’s axe rises once more and the creature’s head hits the floor with a sickening squelch.

“Ugh,” winces Hawke. “Grim. Maybe leave that one out of the story?” But Varric is on his feet, running to the cliff.

“Seeker? _Seeker!_ ”

Myra shoulders her weapon, quick to follow him. “Hawke, how are you at healing?”

“Good enough. Where is she?”

“There. Come on, the path down is over here.”

“She’s not moving,” mutters the dwarf, “she should be complaining already.”

“Varric, come on.”

“Her _arm_ –“

“Varric!”

* * *

The ride back to Skyhold is slow, and every second is burned into Varric’s memory with guilt-laden ease – the unconscious but very much alive Seeker was supposed to be shared between the three of them, but once she had been placed in his arms he found it impossible to let go.

“It’s my fault,” he insists.

Beside him, on Cassandra’s steed, Hawke rolls her eyes. “Fuck off,” she responds with her usual eloquence. “I caught the giant’s attention, it’s _my_ fault.”

“You are both idiots,” mutters Myra, ahead of them. “And she would be the _first_ to say that nobody is to blame.”

“Not entirely sure I can agree with that. I mean, since you two stopped talking and all –“

“Thanks for reminding me,” growls Varric.

“She’ll be _fine_ ,” Hawke assures him.

For once, he does not quite believe her.

* * *

Cassandra is warm when she awakens, slow to move and slower to the realisation that she is not outside. The soft sheets beneath her are also strange, but there is a light scent in the air of a man she knows, and as the identity tumbles into place she opens her eyes.

_Varric’s room?_

“Just _eat_ the damned thing.”

But that was not Varric. The Champion sounds frustrated, a tone Cassandra understood all too well.

“Not hungry.” Varric sounds worn, almost as worn as she feels. She shifts her head to get a better view of the pair, but the movement attracts attention and Hawke beams at her disarmingly.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. How do you feel?”

“Like I drank too much wine.”

She smiles at that, reaching out to carefully check the woman’s arm – bruised, unbelievably bruised now with colours Cassandra did not even know existed, but unbroken. _There was something to be said for that_ , she thinks, and then wonders what an odd thought that was.

“Well, you’re healing wonderfully, though I imagine all that sleep helped. Before you ask, almost a week, all in all.”

“A week?!”

“Yes, and you needed it, and I’m afraid I’m going to insist on at least another day of bedrest. You were incredibly lucky, Cassandra.” With that proclamation, Hawke smiles, patting her friend on the shoulder as she leaves the room.

Varric does not move, does not look at her. She supposes he has had his fill. Instead she looks at him - really looks at him for the first time in weeks. He was drawn, the marks of late nights under his eyes. She wonders when he last ate.

“You look like shit,” she offers, not unkindly.

He manages a smile, weak but there. “You look… hell, Seeker, you look _beautiful_.” And his honesty surprises her, even moreso after their recent series of confrontations. “You’re _alive_.”

“I am.”

“I almost _lost_ you –“ He catches himself, shaking his head slightly as he looks away again. Her fingers inch over the sheets, reaching for his hand.

“I am here,” she promises, “and I am not going anywhere.”

And though he does not say anything else, she feels the weight of the unspoken in the squeeze of his hand, in the comforting warmth of his skin, and she wonders if they might emerge from this whole sorry Hawke mess unscathed.

 _Bruised, but unbroken_. She smiles gently. _A good thought, all in all._


	49. Phrase prompt: "Marry me."

He had a plan.

The perfect spot – a little grove just outside of Skyhold that Sparkler had mentioned was the perfect setting for truly romantic gestures. Ruffles had promised to procure the decorations – rose petals in abundance and candlelight to guide them, naturally. Even Curly had suggested something helpful – the right outfit, for the complete dashing-prince look that could have been straight out of one of his own novels.

On bended knee, he was going to ask – even the ring, a hard-won treasure from the Merchants Guild coffers that had reputedly been created for Andraste Herself once upon a time, was perfectly sized to her finger. He did not even ask Nightingale how she had managed that little trick. His words carefully chosen, her name utterly memorised… as romance went, it was the ideal plan.

But plans never quite work out, and Varric finds himself packing up the uniform and the ringbox with reluctance as he gathers his belongings. Kirkwall beckoned, far away from the chills of Skyhold and the warmth of the Seeker - though she, too, was well beyond his reach now, having absconded with a select group to Crestwood at the Divine’s request.

He remembers their farewell with bowed head and heavy heart - _not a goodbye, Varric,_ she had said, _just a… soon, a promise of soon_ \- and prepares to travel.

* * *

The uniform is the first thing to be lost - after a particularly heavy night out with the honour guard sent for him by the Inquisitor, they all awaken naked and face down in the newly-rebuilt Chantry gardens. The diplomatic incident is brushed away with worrying ease, and Cassandra’s letters hint that he may owe Ruffles rather more favours than he anticipated. The ring is stolen - no doubt by the Guild, he realises, who are insufferably smug in the days following. He takes it as a sign, heart heavy as he reads yet another letter from his distant lover.

* * *

In the end, she surprises him - just turns up on his doorstep with the dirt of the road and a smile on her face, and he cannot help himself as he pulls her straight to bed, their bodies speaking a language their words cannot quite muster. In the afterglow, he writes love letters on her skin.

“This isn’t… I mean, I had a plan,” he explains, laughing as she giggles at his uncharacteristic flusteredness, hands brushing hair from her face. “It was romantic as shit, Seeker, seriously.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” she admits, “but our plans have rarely worked out as we intended.”

She is here, in his city, in his home, crossing half a world just to find him once more. And he does not have rose petals or a grove of trees or a princely uniform or even the blasted ring, but…

“Cassandra.” He takes her hands in his, bringing them to his lips. She tastes like the road and dust and the spices of the market outside, and he overflows with love for her. “Marry me.”

She does not hesitate, not even for a second. “Yes.” The smile pulls at the dirt on her face, her fingers tightening around his. “Please, Maker, _yes_.”

“Well, thank the Maker for that.” And he pulls her in tightly, kissing her with fervour.


	50. Phrase Prompt: "So I found this waterfall..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50th drabble! ... I need to get a life.

“So, I found this waterfall –“

The words are barely out of Varric’s mouth when Dorian and Myra bolt for the clearing, desperate to ease the caked mud from their skin. He chuckles as he watches them, only jumping slightly when the Seeker’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“Should I have told them about the bears?” he wonders aloud, and she laughs, lifting his chin slightly to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Perhaps. I do not doubt the Inquisitor will make a fine meal, but Dorian may be a little stringy.”

“ _Damn_ , Seeker!”

“Well, he _should_ have been more careful in the bog,” she points out, beginning the process of removing her filth-encrusted armour. “If he had only quietened when I asked –“

“His leg _was_ stuck on a vine,” he offers, bending down to tackle the clasps of her greaves.

“We had only just lost the wolves, silence was necessary.”

“The important part is that we all made it out in one piece.”

She grumbles at that, pauldrons falling without care to the ground. “I suppose –“

“And now we have the camp to ourselves for at least, oh… half an hour?”

“More like an hour. Dorian is nothing if not thorough in his personal hygiene regimen.”

The breastplate comes off with ease underneath his fingers and he lays it on the ground, grinning up at her. “So what would you –“

And then he hears it, a low rumbling noise behind him. Her face suddenly tightens, eyes fixed on a point behind him.

“Varric,” she murmurs slowly, “pass me that breastplate very carefully, and when I say duck…”

* * *

Myra runs a hand through her hair, frowning somewhat at the length.

“It’s just strange,” she explains, “I’ve not had it this long since I was a child.”

“It is oddly fetching,” admits Dorian, slinging an arm over her shoulders as they meander back to the small campsite. “Does it curl?”

“It will if it gets any longer. Just at the – Maker, what happened?”

At the very edge of the fire’s light they stop, staring at the scene before them. Smack bang in the middle of the camp lie not one but _two_ bear corpses, bloodied and torn, and Cassandra sits by the fire, working the worst of the mud off her armour with a hard brush and a determined look on her face as Varric busies himself in their tent, emerging finally with an annoyed look.

“Well, you sure took your time!” he grouses, stepping over the bear’s head as he approaches them. “Missed a spot.” He swipes at Dorian’s ear lightly, smearing it with a little dirt.

Myra grabs Varric’s arm. “Varric, I –“

“I’m fine,” he assures her, voice softer now. “We’re all fine. Trust me, you can _see_ the other guy.”

“Still –“

“If we’d called for you, more might have come,” points out Cassandra. “As it is, I think we are safe enough here for now. These appear to be a pair, and it is too early in the season for cubs.” She straightens, dropping the brush and the pauldron. “Though I think it is past time that I washed up.”

“We’ll, ah… we’ll start preparing food,” says Dorian, looking faintly like he might bolt. The Seeker pats his shoulder as she passes him, and Varric chuckles as he throws the pair a salute before grabbing Cassandra by the waist and hoisting her over his shoulder.

“Come on, woman. I’m still riled up from that fight, let’s get _dirty_.”

Her laughter echoes through the glade as they disappear into the darkness.


	51. Phrase prompt: "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

It was strange, when he thought about it. But then again, Varric had fallen prey to the misconception himself, long ago. Choirboy had practically _enforced_ it. But Hawke… well. Hawke had more than enough faith for all of them, and flirted up a storm whenever possible. It almost felt natural, then, when he and Cassandra had finally arrived at the same page of their relationship, that the Seeker should initiate their amorous banter as often as he did.

People often mistook piety for prudishness. More fool them.

* * *

She gets him early in the day.

Breakfast at Halamshiral is a lavish affair, a bounteous feast of fine – if very small – sweet treats and fruit platters. Varric is reluctant to admit that the Orlesians know how to put on a spread, but his stomach betrays him as he takes a seat. 

The Seeker is a little less enthusiastic, though he was privately aware of her misgivings regarding their plan of attack in the forthcoming day’s events. Still, she plucks a delicate pastry from his fingers as she passes the table, heading straight outside.

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!”

She stops, smiling wryly as she backtracks to lean on the back of his chair, mouth level with his ear. “I could think of something more enjoyable for you to eat,” she breathes, and as his chest tightens and his voice gives out, she chuckles, pressing a kiss to his temple before continuing her path out to where the Inquisitor waited in the morning sun.

 _Oh_. Oh, Maker have mercy, he had found himself a smartass. His heart swells along with other parts of his anatomy, and Sera ribs him for hours about the positively dreamy look in his eye, but he cannot quite bring himself to mind too much.


	52. Phrase prompt: "You're the only one I can trust with this."

They are struggling to keep the advantage, and in the end the group breaks - Cassandra loses the Inquisitor, but finds Varric.

“Still alive?”

She nods, risking the few seconds of breathing space they have to pull him into a fierce hug. “You’re bleeding.”

“Just a cut, I’m fine.” He pulls back, grinning up at her. “You’ve done worse to me, over the years.”

She smiles at that, but it does not last. “Come on. We need to find a way to get to Corypheus.”

“It’s no use - I’m a dwarf, Seeker, I’m just not tall enough to get a good shot at this angle.”

She curses under her breath, before looking around. “What if you were higher… there!” She points to a ledge a few feet above them.

He grimaces. “I’m a _dwarf_ ,” he repeats. “How am I supposed to get up there in the first place?”

She sighs, kneeling down and bracing the shield over her back. “Get on. I’ll push you up.”

He mutters darkly, hoisting himself up. “This is worse than Hawke suggesting she _toss_ me…”

“Cassandra!” The cry comes up from the thick of the battle ahead of them, and she curses again.

“Varric, I need to go. Bull can -”

“No, I - you’re the only one I trust doing this, Seeker,” he pleads, his fingers reaching to touch hers at the edge of the shield. “Please.”

She takes a deep breath, nodding before drawing herself up slowly to full height, arms pushing the shield up further until suddenly the weight rises up and off and -

“Alright, Corypheus, let’s see you dodge me now…”

With gritted teeth she draws her weapon once more. “Varric? Stay alive.”

“Hey.” He grins down at her. “I owe you a drink, Seeker. Let them _try_ and stop me.”

And she thinks, as she races to reach the Inquisitor, that she would not bet against him.


	53. Phrase prompt: "Why are you naked in my bed?"

It is late when Varric eventually calls it a night, folding up the few letters he had managed to finish and tucking them into his coat with care. It was becoming increasingly difficult to write, in-between the losses of battle and the inevitability that this war was only going to end one way - he did not want to depress Daisy further, given how much she already had to worry about. And Rivaini had put a ban on anything serious in her letters, so that ruled out pretty much _everything_ \- though at the merest hint of his dalliance with Cassandra she had demanded all the saucy details, and he had enjoyed making the most obscure and random details up to tease the pirate.

Speaking of the Seeker…

He sighs heavily, walking back to his quarters. Things had been frustratingly slow recently - though, he had to admit, there really was nobody to blame for that. They had both been on various assignments for the Inquisition, barely an evening spent together and when they did manage to snatch a moment for themselves things had been… hesitant, on both sides, as if moving forward would fracture the delicate joy they had stumbled into. He was tired of walking on eggshells. He was tired, full stop - they were suffering enough, surely.

At the end of the corridor, he stops - his door is ajar, soft light coming from within. _What the…_

Pushing the door open, he cannot stop the smile that creeps over him at the sight of his room, littered with pieces of clothing in a haphazard trail that leads all the way to his bed. And in his bed…?

“Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Disgusted-noise Pentaghast,” he drawls, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, arms folded. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

She grins, squirming under the covers as she pulls them up to her neck. “Sshhh,” she whispers, “surprise for Varr’c.” She hiccups, giggling, and his eyes widen.

“Shit, are you _drunk_?”

"Might’ve had a drink.”

“And the rest.” Pulling his duster off, he approaches the bed slowly. “I’m not even sure you’ve taken your _boots_ off in here before. You know, this is quite the surprise. What’s the occasion?”

She hiccups again, falling back against the headboard, and the sheet slips to reveal bare shoulders. He swallows as she shrugs.

"I missed you at dinner,” she murmurs, “and yesterday, and all the time I was in the capital, and -” Here she looks up at him from under heavy eyelids, lips pursed. “Varr’c, m’tired of missing you.”

And that just breaks his heart, the sadness underneath the slurring. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reaches for her hand, thick fingers wrapping gently around slender ones. “Me too, Seeker.” He kisses her knuckles. “But this is the part the stories don’t talk about - the hard work, the sacrifice, all the missed moments -“

“I want you to kiss me,” she sighs, leaning forward.

“And I really _want_ to kiss you,” he agrees with a chuckle, “but you’re drunk and I’m not an ass.”

She frowns, and he can see her eyes working hard to focus on him. “But I _came_ to you.”

He nods. “I know. I _know_ , and I love that you came, I love that you found me.” He grins. “I especially love the look.” Trailing a light finger over her shoulder, he leans in to kiss her forehead. “But I don’t want you to regret this, Seeker. If you wake up and change your mind… I don’t want the headache in the morning to be… more than a headache.”

"Varr’c -”

“Come on. Lie back, Seeker.”

She whines, but at his insistence she relaxes back against the pillows, sighing deeply again. “Tired,” she repeats.

“I know.”

“Stay with me?”

He chuckles again. “Well, it _is_ my room.”

“No, stay _with_ me,” she insists, pulling him further onto the bed.

"Seeker -”

” _Stay_.”

He groans, kicking off his boots and tucking the sheet around her, keeping her covered. “Maker’s breath, woman, one of these days…” Careful not to tug on the sheet, he wraps an arm over her, pulling her close to him. Lips graze the skin of her shoulder, eliciting a soft hum from the woman, and he smiles. _This_ , he could get used to.

* * *

The dawn is… difficult for the usually-spritely Seeker, a groan the first sign of life. But the rest of her soon follows, uncurling beneath the soft sheets -

Wait. Wait, she did _not_ have soft sheets.

She sits bolt upright, but the jolt makes her groan again, one hand raising to press against her temple. With a wince, she scans the room, chest tightening as the memories fall into place. Her clothes were folded and neatly stacked on the desk beside a pile of papers, and her boots were by the door. But the usual occupant was nowhere to be found.

“Varric?” she calls out, clutching the sheet to her chest. Nothing - she does not feel much relief in his absence, leaning back against the headboard as she goes over the events of the previous day. The drinks had _seemed_ like a good idea, naturally, but every moment in the inn only served to remind her of who wasn’t there - the same man who was strangely absent now. And she is not entirely sure what thought process had led to the removal of all her clothes, but…

She smiles slightly as she remembers his face through the haze. He had smiled. She was thankful for that much, at least.

_I want you to kiss me._

The haze deepens, but she does not worry - no doubt the dwarf had simply told her to sleep. But what of him? Had he slept elsewhere? She feels an ache, part guilt and part sorrow that he was, once again, missed.

”- and if anyone needs me, tell them I’m sick. Real contagious, alright? Thanks, kid.”

The door opens and she sits up, watching as Varric reverses into the room, carrying a tray of assorted foods. He glances over his shoulder to meet her look, brightening.

“Well, good morning, Seeker.”

“Varric, I -”

“No no, stay there. I went to all this trouble to make sure I could savour this moment, let me have it.” Kicking the door closed, he carefully puts the tray on the desk before crossing over to sit by her side, adopting a serious expression. “Now… on a scale of one to ‘oh Maker why’, how bad are you feeling?”

She laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Ass.”

He grins, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah, but I’m _your_ ass, and I got you the two things required for the perfect hangover recovery - breakfast, and a free pass from any Inquisition business for the rest of the day.”

“You did - wait, how?”

“Oh, our beloved Inquisitor listened to my sob story about how I felt it was important for your morale, put two and two together and told me to tell you that Fereldan whiskies are notoriously stronger and maybe next time you should go easy on the drinks.”

“Ass!” But she is laughing again, settling against the pillows with a soft sigh.

“So how much do you remember?”

She shrugs lightly. “I was not _that_ drunk… I do not remember falling asleep, but everything else I think is in order.”

He nods, patting her legs. “Good. And the head?”

“A little delicate, but nothing some exercise will not clear up -”

“Oh, no no no. You’re staying right there.”

“Varric -”

“Seeker, look.” He leans forward, taking her hand. “I have nursed more hangovers than I care to recall. I have nursed more hangovers for other people than I should ever admit to. And I’ll tell you one very important thing I learnt over the years. When you have the chance to stay in bed? You take it and you savour it.”

She smiles slightly at that, squeezing his fingers. “But the fresh air -“

“I fought mercenaries on the Wounded Coast after a night of extremely heavy drinking. Fresh air did _nothing_ for me.”

"Getting the blood flowing -”

“The blood only serves to bring more pain to the parts already hurting. Try me again, Seeker,” he adds, grinning. “If I have to sit on you to get you to stay in bed, I will.”

She hesitates for a moment, sizing him up. “Well,” she admits, “it has been a while since I enjoyed such… comforts.”

Claiming his victory, he presses a kiss to the back of her hand. “I like the finer things,” he concedes.

“Varric, where did you sleep last night? I did not mean to impose, I just -”

“Oh.” And here he falters, the smile fading for a second. “I, ah… I slept here. I thought you’d remember - I mean, I didn’t - I was on top of the covers, I didn’t _see_ anything. I’m not -“

"Oh.” She looks away. “I see. I…”

_I want you to kiss me._

She chuckles. “For a moment, I half-thought you might have sought refuge elsewhere. But these sheets are perhaps a little too good to give up.”

He smiles, shrugging. “What can I say? Rivani fabric, you can’t beat it.”

They lapse into silence, not awkward but not easy. She takes his hand into hers, watching as he flexes his fingers.

“Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“You would not kiss me. Last night.”

“Seeker, you were drunk. I’m not… I’m not an _ass_.”

"Even though I was naked.”

“What would you think of me now if I had?”

“I… do not know. I only know that I have missed you, and that I… still want you to kiss me.”

Fingers flex again, reaching up to tilt her head up. His eyes find hers, soft and sad. “I missed you too, you know. Writing Rivaini’s letters without your input was a lot less fun.”

She smiles at that. “What did you tell her?”

“That you have a penchant for roleplay, with me as the dragon and you as the slayer.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Damn right,” he grins, pulling himself forward to kiss her soundly. She wraps her arms around his neck, urging him closer as the kiss deepens, and the wasted moments that had kept them apart melt away as their world shrinks to this single, precious reunion.

She smiles as she pulls away, letting him righten himself somewhat. “I missed that a lot.”

“Oh, Seeker, you have no idea…” He chuckles, clearing his throat. “Now, we have a whole day together, and you’re naked in my bed.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I could take care of that headache, if you like.”

She rolls her eyes. “Varric, breakfast is hardly going to beat exercise in getting rid of - _oh_.” She gasps as his hand slips under the sheets, trailing lightly down unexplored skin to find her core.

“A little more fun than beating up a dummy with a sword, but still _excellent_ exercise,” he offers with a smile, fingers moving ever so slightly.

She grabs his shirt, pulling him down to meet her. “Best hangover _ever_.”


	54. random prompt: BOOP!

It starts in the desert.

She is sat by the fire, scowling into the flames. Varric is not entirely sure what irks her more - the endless sands rolling into the horizon or being away from Skyhold when there was still so much to do.  Since their arrival, all had been busy with the rebuilding work, organising supplies and stores, but the Seeker had taken to the task with a fervor that spoke of a distraction from grief. Haven had been a loss to them all, but Varric knew that the last links to the temple had been sacred to her in a way he could never quite grasp. And now, she was out here, helping the Inquisition in a way that somehow felt rather… fruitless. He could relate to that frustration, despite it all.

He reaches across, poking her lightly on the nose.

“Boop.”

She recoils, spluttering. “ _Varric!_ ”

“Cheer up, Seeker. Might all work out.”

She shoves him, a string of muttered curses as she stokes the fire. But the edge is gone from her shoulders, and when Dorian lingers to pass comment her smile is less slow to form.

* * *

It becomes something of a tradition - whenever she is low or lost, he pulls a smile from her with his silly gesture. And she always rails at him, despite the smile.

Before the trials of Adamant, he catches her unawares - though the smile does not linger, he spots it all the same.

In the Emerald Graves, he steals it by moonlight, and she rewards him with a shove that turns into a roll under the stars, a memorable night that warms him.

And all the while she protests, and all the while he knows her heart.

* * *

Bianca’s presence still lingers, long after the woman has gone.

Cassandra feels the ghost sitting between her and Varric, separating them in a stony silence that does nothing for Varric’s temperament. She sits next to him on the bed, and if she took her hand from the page of her book she would barely have to move to find his own fingers.

And despite this, he remains far away, in a place she can only imagine. She wonders if he regrets his choices, regrets _this_. She wonders if he grieves for what might have been. But she cannot begin to follow that thought to its logical conclusion - he is here, with her. He _chose_ this, and Varric Tethras does not often choose without consideration, despite what he would have others believe.

She leans over, reaching with a delicate touch.

“Boop.”

As if woken from a spell, he blinks, turning to look at her in surprise. “Seeker, did you just -”

“I do not know _what_ you are talking about,” she says demurely, straightening up and opening her book. “You must be _quite_ tired. Perhaps you should get an early night?”

His chuckle is warming, and he takes the book from her fingers with ease. “I could be convinced to get under the sheets,” he murmurs. “Is this a good bed-time story?”

“You should know. It’s yours.”

“Hmm.” Flicking through the pages, he stops at a dog-eared page with a smile. “Oh, _that_ chapter…”

She blushes a little, but leans into him, her lips light on his neck. “What of it?”

“Not my finest work, but with a little editing…” He turns his head, murmuring directly into her ear. “Come, Seeker. Let me tell you a story.”

She smiles, taking the book from his hands and carefully putting it on the side-table as he pulls at her hips, drawing her in.  And all the while, she knows his heart.


	55. prelude: varric pov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is set before the next chapter

_Varric -_

_Okay, now you’ve gone too far. I refuse point blank to believe that the Seeker woman likes it when you call her your little Schmooples. Doesn’t the sweet Leliana have a pet nug with that name? Your princess doesn’t strike me as the type to play the Squealing Nugs game.  
_

_I get it, you don’t want to go into the sordid details of it all. But could you at least tell me this - are you happy? Because you’ve earned that much, you stubborn ass. If she doesn’t make you happy… well, I never forget a face._

_Oh, and the sex better be at least half as good as I imagine it to be._

_Admiral Rivaini  
_

_P.S: Tell your new project thanks for the hat - Cole, right? He’s got excellent taste._

* * *

Varric cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. Rivaini always managed to cheer him up, whether it was through her letter or through the effort of him and Cassandra coming up with evermore-elaborate tidbits to tell her.

_Are you happy?_

The thought is almost laughable, but he can picture the look on her face as she asks him, head slightly tilted as she leans in. He chuckles, folding the letter and pocketing it. _Happy, Rivaini?_

He had been happy in Kirkwall, a lifetime ago, with good friends and crap beer and the world beating them down whenever it could. He had been happy with Bianca, and the promise of a life they both knew they could never truly have. Hell, he had been happy when Bartrand had suggested the expedition that had pushed them into finding an associate - Hawke.

They had not always seen eye to eye, of course, but he was confident that Cassandra was by far and large one of the better things that had come out of this Inquisition… even if she did not always want to play the Squealing Nugs game, he thinks with a grin. Not, of course, that she did not _ever_ want to play…

He pushes back from the desk, suddenly struck with the urge to find her.

_Rivaini, happy doesn’t cover it. Trust me on that much._


	56. interlude: cass pov

The recruits almost balk under the watchful gaze of the Commander and the Seeker in cahoots, but nobody can deny how much they inspire the men.

“We should do this more often,” murmurs Cassandra as they ascend the stairs to the walkways above.

“I rather think the men would have kittens at the very idea.”

“Kittens? Not mabari pups?”

He rolls his eyes. “Again with the dog references?”

“I suppose the kittens make more sense for the Lion of Skyhold…” she says, utterly deadpan but for the smirk on her lips.

“You know full well that -”

“The Inquisitor _certainly_ approves,” she adds, and there is enough of a hint in her voice that he stops, paling slightly.

“What did she tell you?”

“Enough.”

“Oh, Maker…” He leans against the battlements, though the sparkle in his eyes betrays his faux-sulk. “That woman, I swear…”

She chuckles, nudging his arm as she leans with him. “You love her.”

“I do. Maker’s breath, I really do.”

“Good. You are a good man, Commander. You deserve an abundance of happiness.”

“So you do. I am glad you fell in love -”

“I did not _fall_ into love, Cullen.” There is a softness to her eyes as she stares out at the recruits. “I walked into love with open eyes. Our path has been… interesting, but I would not undo a single step.”

He grins, tilting his head slightly as he regards her. “Not even stabbing the book?” he drawls, and is rewarded with a chuckle.

“Not even that. If I had not been so…”

“Blunt?”

“Forthright,” she corrects with a laugh. “If I had not been so _forthright_ , we might not be here now.”

“Fate has a strange way of working out,” he admits.

“I cannot speak for fate, but our choices have led us to this path and I would choose it every time.”

“ _Every_ time, Seeker?” asks a familiar voice, and her smile only widens as she turns her head to look past Cullen to the owner.

“Of course. I would live a thousand lives and choose you every single time.”

The Commander pats her shoulder as he pulls back from the battlements, heading down to the recruits as the Seeker turns to face her lover. Varric, somewhat struck dumb by her sentiments, reaches for her hand and kisses her palm.

She laughs, cradling his face lightly on the tips of her fingers. “You are rather quiet for a wordsmith.”

“Cut me a _little_ slack, Seeker, I’m overwhelmed with your forthrightness,” he teases, hands cupping hers. “I can’t always have the right words.”

“And yet your track record is remarkable.”

“Well, consider me stumped. I came to find you to tell you how happy you make me, and -”

“You did?”

He smiles up at her. “Yeah. Rivaini sent a letter, I think we’ve been rumbled, she didn’t buy the Schmooples thing one bit. But she got me thinking, and I realised I hadn’t told you in a while.”

“Told me what?” she baits him, despite the blush rising in her cheeks.

“That I’m madly in love with you, Seeker, even if you’re being an ass about it.”

“Well, that is rather fortunate, as I appear to be quite in love with you.”

He grins, reaching up to her collar and pulling her gently but insistently down to his level. “Damned lucky,” he confirms, kissing her soundly as the recruits let out a cheer from the courtyard below.


	57. wishes meme: regalyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 
> 
> I wish you would write a fic where Cassandra wakes up after dreaming of Regalyan. Varric mentions that she sounded like she was crying in her sleep, and wants her to know she can talk to him about it.

Regalyan is humming, a soft sound of an old song they once heard in a tavern. A lifetime ago. She sits next to him, fingers finding his. “I missed you at Val Royeaux last month.”

“And doubtless you will again,” he points out with a sad smile. “Ordinary mages do not often get to visit the capital.”

Cassandra frowns slightly, resting her head in his lap. “You are no ordinary mage.”

“But I am a mage, and that is enough.”

“What is all this about?”

“Lady Seeker -”

She sits up, brow furrowed deeply at his words. “Galyan, you _never_ call me - what is it? What is wrong?”

“Cassie,” he whispers, “sweet Cassie.” And suddenly Cassandra is struck with a creeping fear, her back straightening as he continues. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that, right?”

“I -”

“Corypheus did this. Not you. Don’t spend the rest of your life beating yourself up - I know you,” he laughs, and his skin begins to bubble and boil, blood dripping from his hairline. “This _wasn’t_ your fault.”

“Galyan, Maker, _please_ -”

Her heart twists in her chest as he begins to fall apart in front of her, his smile hauntingly fixed and his eyes the last part of him to abandon her. “There is nothing to forgive, Cassie, stop asking the _dead_ -”

* * *

 

She jerks awake, bolt upright in bed with a soft cry.

Beside her, Varric shifts - just enough to make her aware of his presence. “Seeker?”

“I… I am sorry if I woke -”

“Hey,” he murmurs, one hand reaching out to lightly take hers. She does not pull away, but nor does she squeeze back. “Don’t worry about it. I was still up. You okay?”

“Just a dream. I am fine.”

“You know you can… shit, come here, you’re _shaking_.” He pulls her gently back towards him, letting her back rest against his chest as his hands run up and down her arms with great tenderness. “You are one of the strongest women I have ever met, Princess. But you don’t have to do everything on your own. You know that, don’t you? I mean, I know you don’t want to talk, but… I’m here, even if you just want to sit and not talk about it.”

She relaxes against him, eyes closing. “I am fine,” she repeats, quieter now, and he presses a soft kiss to her temple. “But… thank you.”

He hums against her, a tuneless sound meant for comfort, and she turns her head to rest against his neck, breathing in deeply. Sleep would elude her, but comfort was still to be found.


	58. angst meme: "Please put it down"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA WHO LET ME NEAR THE ANGST MEME.

“Please, put it _down_.”

He blinks, shaking his head to clear the haze that had clouded everything just moments ago. The first thing he sees is the Inquisitor, blade pointing at him and eyes wide as she repeats her words.

“ _Varric_. Put it down.”

“What – what’s -”

“Varric?”

His eyes drop to the object in his hands – a blade? _What the hell?_

“Varric, _please_.” Her voice is pleading, and he uncurls tight fingers to let the bloodied knife fall to the floor.

“What’s going on?” he croaks, and Myra’s arms drop, the sword hitting the floor with a clang.

“Varric, don’t – _Maker_ , don’t move. I need you to just stay still, okay?”

The panic starts at the base of his spine, but he is exhausted and all he can do is sink to his knees. “Myra?”

She looks like she might cry, turning as she surveys the scene. “Oh, Maker, Varric, I’m – I’m so sorry.”

He follows her eyeline, the trail of blood leading to its owner – and his heart stops. Surrounded by mages and medics, the Seeker lies perfectly still.

“No. _No_ … Maker, no, I – I didn’t -”

“It’s alright. She’s alright.” Myra reaches out to him, but he pulls away. 

“I didn’t… _shit_ , I didn’t -” He draws in a ragged breath, head dropping. “Just… just do what you need to. Help her.”

She pulls him to his feet, and he lets her pull him away. “Do you know what happened, Varric?”

“I don’t – I don’t remember.” 

“There was an artifact from the Hissing Wastes, a vial. You touched it, and you… you were possessed by a demon. Cole realized straight away, but it fought. It used you, lashed out, and… well, people got hurt.”

His feet are heavy, and he barely recognises the hallway leading towards his room, but when they reach his door he stops. “No. No, I – I should be in the cells.”

Myra blinks. “What?”

“I should… all that blood – shit, I should be _killed_.” He looks up at her, eyes mournful. “Inquisitor, judge me.”

“Varric -”

“You have to. You _have_ to. She – she deserves that much, right?”

* * *

 

The hall is empty when he is brought to the Inquisitor, her face drawn as she watches him kneel. There is no Ambassador to read out his charges, no Commander to oversee the process of justice. Only her and him.

“Varric Tethras, you stand before me today to find absolution in the absence of the Maker.”

He does not offer defence, has no words to stay the sentence that will fall.

“But you have come to the wrong person for it.” She stands, motioning with one hand. Footsteps behind him stop just short of him. He closes his eyes, ready for the blade.

He does not expect _her_ , hand light on his shoulder. “Varric, are you alright?”

And it almost breaks him again, to hear such concern in the Seeker’s voice. “I can’t… just – just…”

She wraps her arms around his chest, head resting on her shoulder. “You do not have to do this. It was not _you_.”

“It was _my_ hands,” he murmurs, “ _my_ strength. You could have – shit, you could have _died_.”

“But I did not,” she points out, pulling back to circle him. Lifting his head with her fingertips, she smiles. “Varric, why did you ask for judgement? You did nothing wrong – you were as much a victim as I am.”

He opens his mouth to defy her, but his heart seizes in his chest when his eyes meet hers. Love, such love like he had never known from anyone in his life. She presses a kiss to his forehead and he breaks down, guttural sobs that wrack him to the core as she kneels before him and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“I cannot forgive you,” she whispers, “for there is nothing to forgive.”


	59. angst meme: "Where are you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT GOT WORSE.

The haze above the battlefield is thick, but Iron Bull’s voice resoundingly clear. “Everyone alright? Dorian?”

“Fine,” wheezes Dorian, hauling himself upright with his staff. “Just… ribs…”

“Varric?”

“Can’t see a damned _thing_ for all this smoke -”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep talking, I’ll find you.”

“Cassandra?”

The silence sends a chill through him.

“Cassandra? Holler up, Seeker.”

“Seeker, you better be temporarily deaf!” calls Varric. “Where are you?”

The fog begins to lift, and Bull walks forward cautiously, scanning the area where he last saw the  woman. “Cassandra! _Cassandra!_ ” The familiar dented shield emblazoned with the Eye of Truth lies on the floor, and he kneels down to blow the fog away.

“Oh, Cassandra…”

Her hand is wrapped tightly around the arrow embedded in her stomach, tear-streaked face slack and pale. The sheer amount of blood, however, suggests there is more to the story… Bull frowns slightly, eyes drawn to her free fist. Uncurling it with great care, he lets out a hiss - a crossbow bolt.

He falls back on his haunches, the scene all too clear in his mind. Her wide-eyed realisation as she falls, the last of her energy spent tugging out the telltale bolt with tired fingers and torturously replacing it with a stray arrow, and all to protect the man she loved in her last moments…

“Take your secret with you,” he murmurs, pocketing the bolt as he hears Dorian and Varric stumbling across the field. “ _Ataash varin kata_. I found her,” he adds, loud enough to hear.

Varric is the first to find them, dropping Bianca as he scrambles to the Seeker’s side. “No. Oh, no no _no_ , please, no -”

Dorian falls to his knees. “ _Vitae benefaria_ ,” he whispers.

“Seeker, _please_ , wake up - shit, please, Sparkler, _do_ something -” Varric’s hands are desperate, clinging to her as he looks up at the pair. “Please, I can’t - not again, not this, not _her_ -”

“I’m sorry, Varric,” murmurs Bull, “she’s gone.”

He shakes, rage and grief, burying his face in her neck. “No - _no_ , please, _Cassandra_ , I love you, I _can’t_ -” The cry, when it comes, tears from his throat with inhuman agony, and the Iron Bull fingers the bolt in his pocket. He must burn it, he knows that. How broken this man would be, he thinks, should it ever come to light that he had killed his lover.


	60. angst meme: "Please come get me"

The phone ringing at 4am is rarely a good sign, and as Cassandra reaches for it a pit opens up in her stomach. “What?”

“Seeker.” His voice is low, gravelly, and her hackles raise instantly.

“It is 4am, Varric. What -”

“Please.” She can hear his grip shifting on the phone. “Come get me.”

She takes a deep breath. “Where?”

*

He is smoking again - it is the first cigarette she has seen him smoke in over a year, but he handles it with an ease that speaks of frequency. Given their location, however…

The care home is out of the way, quiet - chosen for its gorgeous surroundings and sympathetic staff. Varric’s brother had been here for almost eight years now. But as she pulls up to the entrance, the fresh white lilies in the window suggest that he was no longer a resident.

She opens the door, waiting for him to get in before she speaks. “Home?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry about this.”

“You do not need to apologise.” She glances in the mirrors, pulling back onto the highway with ease.

“C'mon, Seeker, it’s almost dawn, I -”

She reaches to squeeze his hand, silencing him. “Any time, any place. You know that, Varric.”

His fingers wrap around hers, and she can feel the slightest of trembles. “Yeah. I - I know.”

The rest of the journey is silent.

*

“He’d been sick for a while.”

They sit in the car outside Varric’s apartment, the engine ticking over in the cool early morning air. She does not push him, not today.

He takes in a sharp breath. “Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go, right?”

She closes her eyes, smiling ever so slightly. “He called me Cassie.”

“He couldn’t do long names. Not after the mining accident.”

“I always thought it quite sweet.”

He snorts. “C'mon, you’re no ‘Cassie’, Seeker.”

“I was, once.” She opens her eyes again, shuffling in her seat slightly to face him better. “My brother called me that.”

Varric’s eyes fall to their joined hands. “Brothers. Always going just out of reach.”

“Mm. They lead the way, because they are older and life is cruel.”

He closes his eyes, head resting against the car seat. “Shit.”

“He was a good man.”

“No, he was an asshole. But he was my brother, and… and he was _my_ brother.”

They remain, in that car outside Varric’s apartment, because there is nothing else to do in the wake of such a night.


	61. angst meme: "Please come get me" redux

Cassandra does not abbreviate, not even in text format. It is one of the things Varric finds quite charming about the Seeker. So when his phone chirrups at him with a message entirely abbreviated, he has to double check that it really is from her.

_Pls cm get me? x_

Please? The Seeker had manners, but she was a brusque woman, relying on directness to get what she needed from people. He is halfway to the car before he replies, a simple request for a location. Her response is worrying.

_St El. Hurryyyyyyuuuuuuuuuu_

Shit. Saint Elthina of Our Lady Andraste was almost the other side of the city. _What the hell, Seeker?_

*

He pulls up in the small car park, door open before the engine has revved down.

“Seeker? Seeker!”

A clanging noise from behind the bins grabs his attention, and he rushes over to find Cassandra propped up against the church wall, eyes heavy and blood plentiful.

“Shit,” he hisses, taking off his old duster and pressing it against her shoulder. “You really need a new hobby, Seeker.”

“S’just a flesh wound,” she slurs, a lopsided smile that makes his stomach lurch in a way that had nothing to do with her injury. “You came.”

“Course I did. Any time, any place. You know that.”

“Mm. Ah!” There is a spark to her eyes as she flinches against the pressure, and he is thankful for the moment of clarity.

“So what happened?”

“Jus’ in the wrong place. Gang fight. They got away.”

“And you didn’t call an ambulance because…?”

She fixes him with a look. “Who says I did not?” As if on cue, the distant sound of sirens hollers into earshot, and she chuckles at his exasperated look. “But I knew you would be faster, and I…” And here she hesitates, fingers light on his hand as she focuses on him.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Gotcha.”

“Exactly” she murmurs, closing her eyes as her voice begins to get drowsy once more. “You got me.”

“Stay with me, Seeker…”

“Mm. Always.”

And despite the blood, despite the bullet embedded in her shoulder, despite the cold chill of night creeping into her skin underneath his touch… he smiles.


	62. angst meme: "I am sick of being useless"

He finds her in the courtyard, staring up at the stars.

“Seeker, you’re missing out on a _hell_ of a game.”

She smiles softly. “Forgive me. I am not in the mood.”

He sits next to her. “Alright, what’s up?”

“I am… sick of being useless,” she murmurs, letting her head fall back against the wall. “Once, I was the Right Hand of the Divine, a tool for change. Unstoppable. And now… now I am one of many standing in the darkness trying to bring back the light, with no power to do so.”

“Seeker, you’re not useless. You’re fighting harder than the rest of us.”

She laughs, hollow and short. “I have no Anchor to close rifts. I have no armies at my command, no diplomatic ties, no spies to scout the land. I am not a Warden or a Red Jenny, nor a Ben-Hassrath agent. I am not a great mage with the gifts to ensnare, enthrall or empower, nor a spirit with the desire to change minds, nor a writer with the power to sway hearts.” “I am a Seeker, the last of an order that could not stop the tide of discord, an order that lied and strayed from the righteous path and called it holy. I am, at best, a broken shield.”

He stares at her, floored by her quiet admission. “Cassandra, I -”

She reaches for his hand, squeezing tightly. “A weak moment,” she assures him. “It will pass.”

He shuffles slightly, pulling her down gently to lie with her head in his lap. “You are… so much _more_ than you imagine yourself to be,” he promises, free hand coming to rest on her waist. “ _So_ much more.”

The night sky is stained green, but there is a beauty to it anyway.


	63. kiss meme: Spiderman kiss

He spots her from the road, chuckling to himself as he pushes the gate open. It was days like this that truly surprised him, days that reminded him of how this impossible life was his - the house they shared, the love they felt for one another, the slight curve of her stomach that betrayed the truth of their future… Maker, but it was one miracle after another. 

He could not have written a better ending - and it was all just beginning.

“Seeker, why are you on the roof?”

She adjusts the last of the tiles, removing nails from her teeth before replying. “The rain got in last night. My bath was half-filled before I even had chance to get out of bed.”

“You’re not exactly answering the question.” He grasps the ladder, slowly climbing.

“Well, it had to be repaired, and Bull is more likely than I to make the hole an even bigger problem,” she points out. “He offered, but I do not care to be idle.”

“You should be _resting_ ,” he stresses, and he can practically hear her eyes rolling.

“Varric -”

He reaches the top of the ladder, rolling onto the roof awkwardly and ending up sprawled on his back. “Urgh. How did you even _get_ up here?”

Her face is upside down above him, hair hanging around her face. “With a little more grace,” she teases, swooping to capture his lips in a quick kiss.


	64. kiss meme: war's end kiss

Corypheus falls - and so does the world around them, huge chunks of the temple falling from the skies as the Breach seals for good. Varric runs - over the years it has become a particularly well-used skill of his, but he has never felt its urgency as he does right now.

_Damnit, I did not come all this way to be killed by masonry!  
_

A corner wall crashes around him, and he ducks his head, narrowly avoiding a flying brick. And as quickly as it began, the ground ceases to shake and the air falls still. The dust settles, and the call goes out.

“Inquisition! Stand!”

Bull’s voice brooks no argument, and Varric hauls himself to his feet. In the haze, he scans the group – Cole flickers for a moment, grip tightening on his daggers, Sera is bent at the waist with hands on knees as she coughs up a lungful of ash, and the Seeker -

Maker, the Seeker is every inch a warrior queen, back impossibly straight as she stares out across the land. Varric is filled with a terrifying sense of gratitude that she is unscathed as he picks his way across to meet her.

She turns her head at his approach, smile blooming. “We did it. Varric, we -”

He reaches up, grabbing at her chestplate and pulling her down into a rough kiss, swallowing the surprised noises as he pours his relief and love into the meeting of their lips. It was ridiculous, really, he thinks as her arms come up to wrap around his neck. Two people so at odds in the beginning, to have found such happiness together in spite of the end of the world…

He dips her, and Sera whistles, but neither of them really mind.


	65. kiss meme: I've missed you kiss

Varric has not spoken a word for four days. Cassandra is quite sure she has never suffered through a worse silence in her life.

His skin, usually soft and warm to the touch, remains worryingly clammy and paling. She still holds his hand, a soft kiss pressed absent-mindedly to knuckles when the medics have left them for the evening. She knows her own skin is suffering, her usual routines all out the window as she remains at his side near-constantly. _I cannot leave him_ , she had said to Cole, _what if he wakes up?  
_

_What if he does not?_

That question is pushed aside with increasing anger. He _would_ wake. He had to. They had far too much left to say to one another – he would not leave her like this. He would not.

She misses his voice – misses his stories, his playful needling, the way he said her name… she would trade much just to hear him say ‘Seeker’ once more.

“Come back to me,” she whispers, “and tell me stories where we live forever.”

*

On the evening of the fifth day, he awakens to an awful thirst.

The first thing he notices is the heat – sticky and sickly and everything he hates about being ill. His fingers feel glued together, his – _oh_.

The second thing he notices is the Seeker attached to his arm.

“Hrr.”

He attempts to say her name, but his beleaguered throat fails. She hears him anyway, tired eyes suddenly bright with life.

“Varric?”

“Whr.”

She understands mercifully quickly, letting go of his hand finally – ah, and there was the blood flowing back into his fingers, _shit shit shit_ – to fetch him a mug of water. If there were an ale that could compare to the crisp joy that the first mouthful gives him, he still thinks he would not trade it. He sips carefully, unmindful of whatever spills over his cheeks, before nudging the mug away and wiping his face on the back of his hand. He still felt damned awful, but he manages a smile.

“Hey, Seeker.”

The softest intake of breath catches in her throat, and he is granted only a moment to consider it before she leans over and presses her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Completely taken aback, he barely has time to register the act before she pulls away, settling in her seat.

“Welcome back,” she murmurs, smile small and soft and wonderfully full of hope. He reaches to grasp her fingers, squeezing softly.

“With a welcome like that, I might just stick around,” he teases.

She chuckles, resting her head against his arm – she looks exhausted, and Varric can only guess at how long she has been by his side. “You had better.”

“Count on it, Seeker.” He leans over with considerable effort, kissing the top of her head. “Count on it.”


	66. kiss meme: forehead kiss + back kiss

The morning after the final victory brings a warm and lazy dawn.

Varric wakes early, the haze of celebration still hanging over his room. He blinks blearily, lifting his head only slightly to gauge the hour of waking, before lowering once more to press a sleepy kiss to the bare flesh beneath him. Cassandra’s shoulderblades move in response, a soft hum from deep in her chest vibrating through him and causing him to smile.

_We lived.  
_

He kisses her back once more, eliciting another hum, another roll of shoulders and a shift of weight as she moves to face him, her own half-awake smile making his heart swell.

“Hey,” he murmurs, low and husky. She shuffles closer, and he wraps an arm around her, offering his chest as pillow.

“Mm. A little longer,” she suggests, nuzzling into his shoulder. He kisses her forehead, arms pulling her in tightly, causing her to squeak.

“As long as you want.”

“Varric?”

“Go back to sleep, Seeker. You’ve more than earned it.”

Her fingers curl against his heart, her own lips finding the dip of his collarbone. “Mm.”

Dawn finds them together, and sleep rewards them well.


	67. symbols meme: taking a bath

“You’re getting it in my eyes!”

“If you would just stop wriggling so much -”

“Then stop rubbing up against me like that, Seeker, it’s distracting -”

“Maker take you, this is ridiculous -”

The water sloshes against the edges of the tub, Varric’s hands curling around the copper rim. Cassandra’s exasperated sigh is followed by the soap being thrown across the room, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

“Seeker,” he groans, pulling away from her, “this isn’t going to work.”

She falls back against the tub, shrugging slightly. “Your books make it sound much easier,” she admits, and he turns to watch her over his shoulder.

“In my books, they’re never _just_ washing each others hair,” he points out, smirking at the blush on her face. “Is that why you suggested this?”

“I was a little… inspired,” she admits, hauling herself up to stand. “Perhaps this is not – _ah!_ ” She cries out as he grabs her wrist, stumbling as he pulls her down in front of him. Water splashes over the side.

“This way. I always write it this way.” He lets her settle against him before his hands roam, lips pressing into the curve of her neck as she arches against him.

“Varric -”

“This is the part where the love interest suggests they get dirty before they clean up,” he murmurs, “and the hero agrees as she throws the soap against the wall.”

She chuckles, her fingers trailing down his arms as they dip under the waterline. “I acted out of turn, it seems.”

“I’ll eventually forgive you.”

“I am glad to – _ah!_ ” Her eyes close as his fingers find their goal, hands reaching for the edges of the tub. “Oh, Maker, Varric…”

“Seeker, you’re looking a little… _dirty_.” His free hand braces her hips, holding her down as her back presses against his chest. “Let me give you a hand.”

Her head falls back against his shoulder, suddenly quite in favour of the tub.


	68. sentence meme: Are you kidding me? We are not fine

Her voice is loud, too loud. “It is the highest honour! I cannot deny the Maker’s will in this!”

“And – and what, you want me to be _happy_ for you? Happy that you’re leaving your life behind, leaving _me_ behind? Fuck, Seeker, I thought you had half a brain in that head of yours!”

“Varric!”

“I love you!” He stops, letting the words hang in the air for a moment, taking no pleasure from the look of shock on her face. “I love you,” he repeats, quieter now, “and I don’t want to watch you disappear into the role of Divine without – shit, without knowing that, I guess. And for the record,” he adds, low and dark once more, “the greatest honour was getting even a _day_ with you, and hang the Chantry for saying otherwise.”

She moves to respond, but stops at the knock at his door.

“Varric? Are you alright?”

He calls out to Cullen. “Fine. We’re fine. Sorry for the noise.”

She waits until the footsteps fade. “Are you kidding me? We are – we are not _fine_.”

“We’re as good as we’re gonna get,” he points out, turning away.

She reaches out to him, pulling at his shoulder. “So – so what now? Are we done? Is this it?”

“We’re not done until you say it,” he growls.

She pushes back, hands splayed against his chest before wrapping around the folds of his shirt and pulling him back in close. “Then we are not done,” she says, slightly breathless as his eyes widen. “For I would not say goodbye this night.” Her lips are crushing against his, the strangled whine emanating from his throat desperate as he grapples for purchase on the desk. Her fingers rip at fabric, tugging his shirt from his shoulders.

Somewhere inbetween the desk and the bed, her clothes vanish. He has learnt not to question such magic.

“Ask me not to do it,” she whispers, hissing as he slides into her. “Ask me to – _ah!_ Maker, Varric, ask me to put my heart first.”

His teeth rake along her neck, hot breath huffing against her skin as he fucks her hard. “One last time,” he grinds out between kisses. “Come for me – fuck, Cassandra, come for me -”

She rails against him with a sob, and he spills into her, hesitating only a moment before he wraps his arms around her and lets her cry into his shoulder.

He does not give answer until she is dressed once more, his own clothes hanging loosely as he looks up at her.

“I can’t. You _know_ I can’t.”

“I know.” She offers a weak smile that does not linger. “For what it is worth, I -”

“Don’t apologise, Seeker. Don’t be sorry for what we had.” He takes her hand in his, squeezing gently. “Just do good, okay? Do _right_.”

She brings their joined hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles with a tenderness he would miss with all his heart. “You will always have my heart, Varric. Never forget that.”

*

In the morning, he is gone, and she is left with only memories of tender kisses in the dark before the Holy Dawn.


	69. sentence meme: Does he know about the baby?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO THE LAST ONE MADE EVERYONE ON TUMBLR SAD SO THIS IS A DIRECT SEQUEL NEVER LET IT BE SAID I AM ALWAYS THE WORST (just frequently the worst!)

Months pass, and Varric wakes up to a rabble in the Hanged Man.

“I mean, you can’t be _surprised_ ,” drawls Dorian with a smirk as Cole sits on the dwarf’s shoulders, hands soft on his head. “You left without saying goodbye – rude, by the way – so when business came up in the Marches quite a few people volunteered.”

“Someone’s gotta keep the Red Jennies in line,” pipes up Sera, legs swinging as she rocks the barstool slightly.

He grins. “Of course.” He looks up at the boy on his shoulders. “How you doing, Kid?”

Cole hums. “Parchment and passion and all the voices that grow with time -” He rests his cheek against Varric’s hair. “Skyhold is less kind without you.”

“What are YOU doing here?” Sera’s voice is piercing as ever, and Varric chuckles slightly as he turns to find the object of her derision -

His stomach flips.

“Cassandra?” Dorian is by her side in a flash, pulling her into a brief embrace. “I would have thought you all ready for the coronation – ugh, you’re _filthy_ , does the Divine not travel by palanquin anymore?”

The woman is covered in dust from the road, her black hair coated with a thin film. But the most surprising thing is the look on her face – a nervousness he has not seen since the early days of their relationship.

“I, ah -” Her voice wavers, eyes finding Varric, and his heart stops.

“It was yesterday, wasn’t it?” he says slowly. “The coronation was yesterday.”

She nods, and Sera whistles long and low.

“You chickened out!”

Cassandra winces at the words, but Varric’s chest tightens as she speaks. “I… I am sure the new Divine is the right person to be on the throne. But it is not me.”

“But why?” asks Dorian. “You were so _sure_ -”

“I was wrong.” Her voice is soft, quiet, but firm. “My path lies elsewhere.”

Dorian does not look convinced, but assents, pulling her towards the table. “Well, come and sit with us. We were just -”

“Getting a drink,” says Varric. “Come on, Sparkler. Your round.”

Cole vanishes from Varric’s shoulders, reappearing on Sera’s. “I would like to try the ale,” he murmurs, ushering the pair to the bar and away from Cassandra and Varric.

The dwarf slides into the seat next to her. “Seeker.”

She lets out a sigh, the tension from her shoulders releasing. “Varric, I -”

“Are you okay?” His hand finds hers, squeezing gently. “Must have been a difficult conversation to have with the higher-ups.”

She nods. “It was… brief, and I did not linger. I imagine I will not be able to show my face in Orlais for a few years, in truth.”

He tuts under his breath. “That’s the Chantry for you.”

“I should not have gone with doubt in my heart.” She sighs, shaking her head. “I am just glad I came to my senses before – before it was too late.”

Varric chuckles weakly. “Well, I won’t say I told you so, but…”

Her fingers tighten around his. “I – I am not here to – what I mean to say is -”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say it.”

“I _do_.” She squeezes his hand. “You were right, and I – I am sorry for hurting you. For doubting what we had.”

“Had, huh?”

She smiles slightly. “I do not expect forgiveness, much less reconciliation, not after -”

“Alright, let me stop you there.” He pulls on her arm, facing her head on. “How about we skip the melodramatic bullshit and move straight on to the soppy sentiments? I don’t care who said what. I _really_ don’t. I still love you, Seeker, and it doesn’t take a genius to see you love me.” He smiles up at her. “After all, how many guys can say the Divine left the Chantry for them?”

She laughs at that, a choked noise as she pulls him into a tight embrace. “Damned few,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

“You’ll be alright,” he promises, “whatever you do next, you’ll be alright. I’ve got you.”

She pulls back, one hand cupping his cheek. “I do not deserve you, truly.”

“Ah, shut up.” He pulls her into a soft kiss, the taste of her lips like the first dawn of spring.

Cole appears, cross-legged on the table, smiling. “Light, breaking through the clouds, the brightest sunshine, forgive me for doubting, your kindness is the highest honour -” He stops, tilting his head slightly. “Does he know about the baby?” And with a crack he vanishes again.

Cassandra and Varric stare at each other, before their voices join in unison.

“What baby?”


	70. sentence meme: Damn, you clean up good

“Seeker, come on!” Varric straightens his waistcoat for the seventh time in as many minutes, frowning slightly at his reflection in the mirror. “We’re going to be late!”

“Ten seconds!” she calls down the stairs. “These blasted _shoes_ -”

“Which ones?”

“The red strappy torture devices!”

He grins, the memory of taking those shoes off as a prelude to a raucous night of passion still clear in his mind. “Tease,” he calls back, before running a hand through his hair. Ruffles would no doubt complain of their tardiness, but he would smooth things over. It was, after all, only a four-month reunion dinner.

She descends the staircase, and he can only stare as impossibly long legs give way to a tight black dress – the kind of dress his mother had warned him about. Cassandra completes the look with a flash of red on her lips and a surprisingly practical handbag.

He smiles, broad and smug as his hand comes up to meet her waist. “Damn, you clean up _good_ , Seeker.”

She rolls her eyes as she puts her earrings in, but does not move from his touch. “Why are you always surprised?”

“Not surprised. Enthralled,” he corrects, “enchanted, enamoured… enraptured…” The words are punctuated with soft kisses, lips grazing her shoulder.

She laughs at that, soft and inviting as he pushes her against the wall. “Varric, these shoes -”

“Good thinking, we’ll blame it on the shoes.” He kneels before her, smirking as he hoists her legs over his shoulders, delighting in her gasp of surprise. “Brains, brawn and beauty. The perfect woman.”

Her fingers thread through his hair, despite the warning on her tongue. “We are going to be _late_ ,” she reminds him, breath hitching as his hands creep up the inside of her legs.

“Fuck it,” he breathes, “we’re _always_ late.”


	71. sentence meme: You know, it's okay to cry

The marked one sleeps, and Cassandra wonders how people managed to sit idle for more than a moment. She finds herself sat on a low wall beyond the tavern, head downcast and filled with troubling thoughts.

Most Holy was dead – along with countless others. Friends, companions, good men and women that she had known, all lain to waste in an explosion unparallelled. Her heart screams for them all, but she remains as stone. She could not afford a single moment of weakness, not here.

“You know, it’s okay to cry.” She starts at the sound, head whipping round to find Varric leaning against the wall a few feet along, arms folded and eyes up towards the Breach. “It’s not a weakness to _grieve_ , Seeker,” he adds.

“What would you know of it, dwarf?” she mutters, turning away and swiping angrily at her eyes.

“You read my book. You know how much I lost.” His voice takes on an edge. “And then you took me away from what remained. I’d say I know enough.” Pushing back against the wall, he does not look back as he heads towards the inn, and she curses her sharpness, curses his attitude, curses these blasted circumstances and shakes her head of further reverie.

*

It is only later, when Haven sleeps, that the tears come – silent but unashamed in the moonlight.

She does not see Varric watching from the doorway, does not hear his soft prayer for the fallen.


	72. random prompt: clothes swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sennalya asked:
> 
> Hey, if your muse hits: finding the other one in your clothes with Varric and Cassandra? Just V wearing Cass's because the image makes me cackle uncontrollably :). Thanks for your lovely fics! I like them so much :)

“You know, I never thought I would say that Josephine had lost her mind, but I really think she -”

Cassandra stops in the doorway of his room – their room, she thinks, heart soaring in her chest because it is still wonderfully new – and stares at the dwarf stood in the middle of the room.

He has her shield strapped to one arm and her sword in the other, brandishing them with a lacklustre grimace on his face. But the centrepiece of his ridiculous posturing is her chestpiece adorning his body – not quite broad enough to fasten around his chest, but sticking out hilariously from his shoulders down. 

He looks up at her, suddenly grinning as he adopts a gratingly bad Nevarran accent.

“Who goes there? I am the mighty Seeker Pentaghast! Slayer of bears and seducer of innocent dwarves!”

She blinks, completely thrown by this turn of events.

Beyond him, sat on the edge of the bed, Sera cackles with laughter, whooping as she leans heavily against Dorian who wipes the tears from his eyes as he shudders with the weight of his chuckles.

Varric wiggles the sword in her direction, and she considers him for a long moment. It had been a difficult time for the Inquisition – the pressure of the Orlesian court and significant intelligence losses in the field had led to a general air of concern, and it had been some time since Sera’s return to the fold from a Red Jenny mission that (if rumours were to be believed) had turned sour. She had kept herself holed away, angry and loud for days. But now… he has done what he does best. He has brought laughter.

She straightens up, hips thrust forward as she attempts to mimic a familiar swagger. Scooping up his duster, she shrugs it on, the hem skirting around her thighs. Reaching to the wall, she picks up Bianca, swinging her over one shoulder. Sera cackles, making Cassandra grin.

“Why, _I_ am the incorrigible Varric Tethras,” she announces, strutting up to meet him. “By day I am an average storyteller, by night I am an average rogue! My ego is dwarfed only by my weapon – and Bianca is _not_ the weapon of which I speak.” She tosses him a wink, rewarded by a thump as Sera falls off the bed laughing so hard she might be sick. Dorian howls with laughter as Varric chuckles, bowing his head in deference to her wit.

“Well played, _dwarf_ ,” he teases.

She laughs, offering a short bow. “The pleasure is all mine, _Seeker!_ ”

“Okay, that’s weird.”

“You are wearing my chestplate,” she points out. “ _That_ is weird.”

“Entirely worth it for Buttercup’s smile,” he says.

Resting Bianca against his desk, she reaches down to cup his cheeks. “You are a good man, Master Tethras,” she murmurs, kissing him soundly – much to Sera’s vocal displeasure.


	73. sentence meme: Promise me you'll stay

They always leave him, in the end.

His mother leaves in her bed, his words failing. He stops writing.

Bianca leaves under a cloud, his heart aching. He stops wishing.

Hawke leaves with a smile, his lies spinning. He stops hoping.

But Cassandra…

She kisses him in the moonlight, and he cannot help but cling to her. His words and his heart and his hope burn in his chest, and he wants to believe he is not second-best. He wants to believe.

“Promise me you’ll stay.” He does not mean to sound so desperate, but it eats at him in the dark, the fear taking root in the dark place that grew from neglect and heartbreak and grief.

She kisses him again, a thousand promises on her lips. _Never. Never, in this life or the next._


	74. random prompt: jealous Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested some serious Varric jealousy

The Emprise is free. He should be happy. He should be over the fucking _moon_.

But his head hurts from all this red lyrium – no matter how much they smash it, the dust and the song linger on. He is tired of waging a war against rocks. And now Ser Michel – the perfect sodding chevalier with his prissy hair and formal bows and secret sodding smiles just for _her_ – is tagging along with them back through the Emprise to Skyhold.

Varric can hear them, sat by the fireside – Michel and the Seeker, exactly where he left them when he stomped off to his bedroll an hour ago, still trading war stories. He stares up at the canvas of the tent, his imagination filling in the blanks. The way she touches her hair when he tilts his head just so, the way she smiles when he compliments her form, their hands bumping against one another as he passes her a whetstone…

He groans, rolling onto his side. Stupid. He was so bloody _stupid_. It was not like they were… not like they had…. like she could _ever_ …

He hauls himself up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Sleep was hard to come by in the Emprise, even more so with such thoughts. He shuffles into a shirt, edging towards the tent entrance, when he hears them.

“Cassandra…”

Oh. He _knew_ that tone, knew exactly what that tone in that sodding Orlesian accent did to women. He falls back on his heels, heart sinking in his chest.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Am I to refrain from looking at you?”

“What a ridiculous – what are you doing?” The sharp change in tone raises Varric’s hackles, and the mood outside changes.

“I thought -”

“You thought what?”

“I was… mistaken. Please, I cannot apologise enough.”

“You – oh. You thought that I -”

“I should not have assumed.”

“No, you should not have.”

The silence is painful, even to Varric. He shifts his weight awkwardly.

“Oh. You are with…?”

“Not that it is any of your business… but no. I… have not told him.”

_Oh._ So she had feelings for someone – one of their party. The Inquisitor was the natural choice, given that Dorian was not given to dalliances with women – if the Seeker had not yet worked _that_ out, she really was bad at discovering the truth. Varric’s heart sinks lower.

And it made sense, it really did – the Inquisitor was a hero, dashing and clever and brave and all those traits Varric poured into the leading men of his shitty romance novels. He was nothing like Varric, and Varric was nothing like him. Nothing like what she wanted.

He mutters under his breath, pushing his way out of the tent and shuffling out past the edges of the camp. Stalking out into the snow, he immediately regrets leaving his duster behind as he rubs his arms.

“Well… shit.”

“Varric?”

He closes his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be swapping bedtime stories with Michel?” he drawls, turning around to face her -

Oh.

In her hands she holds out a blanket, not waiting for an invitation to drape it over his shoulders. She pulls the edges together across his chest. “Is it… the singing?” she asks quietly, breath visible in the cold.

He nods. “Quiet, but still there.”

“I will ask the scouts to do a sweep in the morning. Perhaps we missed a cache -”

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Better to get rid of it all. Besides, if it helps you, that can only be a good thing.” She smiles softly, 

He looks up at her, swallowing. “You, uh – you should probably get some sleep. Early start and all that.”

She regards him for a long moment, before tugging on the edge of the blanket. “Come back to the fire.”

“And listen to Ser Pompous tell more stories of the uprisings? No thanks.”

“He has retired for the night.” She smiles wryly. “I do not think he will be quite as talkative tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I, ah… I heard.” He ducks his eyes, chuckling. “Can’t blame him for trying, Seeker.”

“How – how much did you hear?”

“Enough. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell the Inquisitor about your feelings for him. I’m an ass, but I’m not a _total_ ass.”

At her silence, he risks looking up -

_Oh.  
_

She is staring at him, into the heart of him, eyes shining slightly as her fingers uncurl from around the edges of the blanket. Smoothing the fabric, she reaches up to cup his face in her hands. “Varric,” she says softly, like a prayer.

“Not the Inquisitor?” he whispers. She shakes her head. “Not Michel?” She smiles, shaking her head again. He swallows, trembling hands reaching out to her waist. “Not Dorian?” he asks, smiling as she laughs.

“No, not Dorian.”

“Seeker -”

“There is nobody else,” she says gently, pressing her lips against his forehead. “Nobody else who compares.”

“Oh,” he breathes, pulling her in close as he buries his face in her shoulder, inhaling her scent. “Well.” His fists bunch in the fabric of her undershirt, his grin hidden but clearly felt as she starts giggling. “Good,” he says finally. “I’d hate for this to be awkwardly one-sided.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, pulling back and taking his hand in hers. “Come back to the fire with me.”

“Cassandra -” He pulls on her arm and she stumbles back into his arms, his grip tight on her waist as he looks up at her with a smile. “There’s nobody else for me either,” he murmurs. “No-one even _close_.”


	75. random prompt: dealing with the Divine

He had followed her from Kirkwall. He rather suspects he would follow her anywhere she went. She is a leader – a hero.

He always did have a type.

*

Haven burns. Varric watches the Seeker mourn, remembering those lost – both today and from the years past in Kirkwall. How many more had to die in such senseless fashion?

He knows of only one person who could help. The cost would be high – she might never speak to him again – but they needed a Champion. So he sends out the messenger, and suffers her wrath.

 

In time, she forgives him, and he follows her to Adamant and the hole in the world.

*

She reads his books – and not just the ones about Hawke. It honestly surprises him. Oh, not that she has passion – that much is obvious to anyone who managed to survive five minutes of her scathing tongue. He knew that the second he was dragged in front of her, all that time ago in Kirkwall.

No, that she would choose a second-rate book from an author more famous for killing people off than bringing them together… _that_ was a surprise. That she had chosen _his_ work -

 

He writes her another, and follows her smile as she turns the pages.

*

Their dance is slow, cautious – and it ends with four words.

“I may be Divine.”

He pledges allegiance to her, passionate kisses and prayers wrapped up in sinful moans and his body given entirely to her. He takes from her just one night, because he knows he cannot claim a lifetime.

 

In the morning, he kisses her forehead and promises to follow her to the end.

*

The end comes, a hurried fight that leaves them all scarred but victorious, telling stories around the hall’s grand tables as the drinks flow and wounds are tended to.

“Hey, Seeker.” He smiles as she approaches his table, offering her a mug of ale. “Come to celebrate?”

She accepts the drink, fingers grazing his lightly, but there is a sadness to her smile and he _knows_. She would be Divine.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, “for everything. You did not have to stay, and yet…”

“For you?” He tilts his head respectfully. “Anytime.”

“What will you do now? Stay? Or does Kirkwall call its favoured son home?”

“Ah… I don’t know yet. I haven’t thought about it.” Not quite a lie, not quite the truth. He is comfortable in the grey.

*

The ascension of the Divine Victoria, first of her name, is well received by the masses. Thousands come out to gain even a _glimpse_ of the woman who would lead the faith.

Nobody notices the dwarf three rows back. Nobody but her.

*

She holds audience with him, sad smiles and lingering looks.

“You came.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Of course I did.”

“ _You_ , Varric Tethras. The man who had never stood in a Chantry.”

“Ah, come on now, Seeker…” He brushes it off, the rest unspoken. _I’d follow you anywhere_.

She removes the headdress, running a hand through short black locks. “So. What now?”

He grins. “I hear you’re looking for a new Hand…”


	76. unprompted - proposal

The morning peace is broken by a loud scraping noise outside her door. Cassandra dresses angrily before looking to see what the issue is. She opens the door to find -

“Who just leaves a _dragon_ skull lying around?” she yells from the window. 

Emerging from the door below her, Varric looks up at her with a grin as he backs into the courtyard.

“Me,” he shouts back. “Is it good enough?”

She stares at him. “Good enough for what?”

“Did she say yes?” yells the Iron Bull from the door of the tavern.

“Say yes to _what?_ ”

Varric rolls his eyes, hands on hips. “To marrying me, Seeker.”

Her jaw drops. _“What?!”_

“Dragon skull on your doorstep. Ancient Pentaghast tradition, right?” And he looks up at her with such an honest look that for a long moment she almost thinks he might be right.

And then she remembers – a long time ago, he had been teasing her, asking about the rules of her family name, and she had jokingly told him that a common marriage proposal was to prove worth by slaying a dragon and leaving the skull by the door. The better the skull, the better the chance of a yes.

“You believed me?” she whispers, one hand over her mouth. “Maker’s breath, you actually _believed_ me?”

His face falls for a moment. “You were _kidding_?”

She laughs, painful lung-wrenching laughter that comes from deep within her, clinging to the window frame for support. “I cannot believe you _remembered_ , never mind _believed_ me!”

He tilts his head, shrugging. “Of course I remembered. I figured it’d be important eventually.”

“Where did you -”

“Hissing Wastes. I, ah… I told Bull, and we took the Chargers, and…” He trails off, smile wry. “Seeker, are you… gonna answer my question?” Behind him, the Chargers gather, eager to see the outcome.

She laughs, crooking a finger in invitation. “Come and find out,” she says in a low voice, before closing the window to an explosion of catcalls and whistles.


	77. couples meme - taking a nap (first of her name au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taken from the 'First of Her Name' universe.

He had not slept in twenty-seven hours.

Her contractions had started in the evening, her waters breaking in spectacular fashion all over the Antivan rug - a gift from a diplomat neither of them really cared for - and he had managed to calm her nerves and placate her with a kiss before the midwives had ushered him out.

It was now the morning after the next day, and he was exhausted.

Another scream pierces the hallway. His fingers bunch around the hem of his tunic. They had been getting worse since the early hours, and privately he wondered if she was not in fact giving birth to a set of knives or something equally painful.

He hoped she was alright. _Maker_ , he hoped she was alright.

Another scream, longer this time, and the sense of finality hangs in the air for a long moment before another cry rings out - a younger cry, a much more new and promising cry that grabs at his heart in a way he could never have asked for.

He rises from his seat, the weariness washing away as one of the healers comes to the doorway. “Is she -”

“They’re both fine, your Majesty. Would you like to come and say hello?”

*

She looks like a miracle. Swaddled in sheets and bathed in sweat, her smile at his arrival lights up her face. “Husband of mine,” she murmurs. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Hey, I wanted to be here with you, but the midwives insisted.” He is by her side in a heartbeat, hands wrapping around hers. “You alright? It sounded -”

“I am fine. She took a little time to leave the comforts of royal treatment, it seems.”

His heart leaps. “She?”

Cassandra nods. “A little princess.” She nods to the nurse in the corner, washing the babe as she gently hums.

“Oh,” he breathes, his smile broad. “Oh, Cassandra, she’s… she’s _beautiful_.”

“She ought to be. A part of you, and a part of me.” She pats the bed. “Come. Stay with me.”

He slides onto the bed, curling around her as the nurse brings their daughter over to them. His arms tighten around the babe, eyes fixed on her. With a shock of black hair on her forehead and the start of a scowl, she could be the very image of his wife.

“Andraste,” he whispers. “Look at her.”

Cassandra leans against his shoulder, reaching to lightly brush her child’s hair. “I love you,” she murmurs, “I love you both so much.” She looks up, smiling at Varric. “We have a daughter.”

He leans over to kiss her tenderly. “We have a daughter,” he repeats, “and I love you so, so much.”

She snuggles up to him, yawning, and he leans back against the headboard.

“Have a nap, Seeker.”

“‘M not that tired,” she murmurs softly, eyes already closed as his attention turns back to the darling babe in his arms.


	78. couples meme - a moan

He hates it. He _hates_ that it’s coming from her lips like this.

He’s fantasized about her, about _his_ hands across her skin, dipping between her legs and coaxing that noise from her, a symphony of pleasure as he brings her over the edge. He’s wanted that for months, waited for the right time to approach her, considered her potential responses - he’s not wrong, he can see it in the way she holds herself around him, those subtle shifts of her weight and nervous eyes. He knows she thinks of him, too. He can only imagine exactly how she thinks of him, but it is enough that she _does_.

But now she was moaning for all the wrong reasons, fingers desperately pressing against the wound in her stomach, and he _hates_ it.

“Hold on, Seeker,” he murmurs as Vivienne tips the woman’s head back, pouring a potion down her throat. “Just hold on.”

“W-w-will t-t-tr-try,” she gasps, before coughing violently, her hand tightening around his hand, slippery with blood. “S-so m-m-much t-to s-s-s-say.”

He leans down, forehead pressing against hers. “Just hold on,” he whispers, “and we’ll talk until there’s no more words to say.”


	79. couples meme - a confession (A&E au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taken from the Doctor Pentaghast universe (see chapters 39 & 40!)

She’s pressed up against the door, rocking on his hand rather enthusiastically when the realisation happens. And it’s not like they’re the _first_ to use the on-call room for a quick fuck, but this might be the first time anyone’s ever realised that they -

“Ah! Varric, _please_ -” Her grip on his wrist tightens, knees buckling as he presses harder, a grin spreading across his face.

“Are you begging, Doc? ‘Cos that’s _hot_.”

“Don’t _tease_ me, I need - I need  -”

“Tell me what you need.”

Her eyes close, head dropping back against the door. “I need you - oh, Varric, _please_ , I love you, I _need_ you, I -”

His hand slows, her hips desperate to make up for his sudden stillness as she whines - and then he pulls her down into a hard kiss, tugging her away from the door and towards the beds.

“Say it again,” he breathes, pushing her down onto the sheets. “Tell me again.”

She stares up at him, confused for a moment before the realisation hits her. “I - I -” Oh, Maker. She _loved_ him. And she had just blurted it out! Her face burns, hands grabbing for a pillow as she lets out a groan. “Oh. Oh no. No, it was not supposed to happen like this -”

“Doc,” he growls, tearing the pillow away from her face and cupping her chin. “Tell me again.”

“Varric -”

“ _Please_.” His eyes are wide, his breath short. She knows that look. Disbelief.

Her hands come up to cradle his face. “I - I love you.”

For a moment, there is only that one solid truth between them. And then he moves, lips tender against hers.

“Again,” he breathes against her skin.

“Varric -”

He pushes into her, forcing a cry from her throat. “ _Again_.”

“I love you,” she gasps, rocking against his heat. “I love you I love you I _love_ you -” 

“Cassandra - oh, Cassandra -” He buries himself into her hard, her name almost a prayer as they fall into the abyss together. Her breathing is hard as she rolls off him, a soft whimper at the loss of contact.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You love me, huh?”

She nods, before burying her face into the sheets and making an inarticulate noise. “This is not how I thought it would ever go.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you too, Doc.”


	80. couples meme - drunk (seeker au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Seeker universe, prequel.

She’s drunk. It’s not the rarity it once was, but it still takes Varric by surprise - the relaxed stance, the slow reactions, the vacant look in eyes usually so focused… she was a world away from herself.

He supposes that’s rather the _point_.

“Seeker,” he drawls, because even though there is nobody else in the main room of the inn he does not risk saying her name in a public space. “What’s up?”

Her head is propped up on her hand, wobbling slightly as she turns to look him up and down. “Varric,” she pronounces finally. “You are half-up.” And that amuses her so much she bursts into giggles. He raises an eyebrow. Giggles were _definitely_ new.

After a cursory glance south - _no, definitely not half-up there… -_ he puts his hands on his hips, a smirk playing on his face. “Is that a _height_ joke? Shit, you’re more drunk than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

She shrugs, a messy movement, and he can feel the sorrow that rolls off it. “S’pose.”

He holds out his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Letting out a long sigh, she abandons the dregs of her drink, letting him haul her to her feet. “But bed is bad,” she offers, draping a hand over his shoulder. He tries not to linger on the sensation, one hand at her back as he guides her to his office.

“And why, pray tell, is bed a bad thing? I know you rarely sleep, but -”

“Varric,” she says suddenly, stopping in the doorway. “You do not dream, do you?” And there is a change in her, a sharpness that speaks of fear. He wonders what she dreams of.

He knows better than to ask.

“Come on. Sleep in my bed tonight, alright? It’s better than the couch.” He coaxes her through the door, closing it behind them and leading her up the small spiral staircase to the quarters they had been sharing since her arrival.

The couch she had been occupying for the past year sits in the hallway - he had offered her the bed more times than he could count, had offered to _buy_ her a damned bed, but she seemed to find a penance in the sparse comfort. But tonight he pushes her past it into his own room.

She falters at the sight of his bed, shoulders tightening up. “Varric -”

“Just go and lie down.” He tugs off his shirt, rummaging in a drawer for a fresh blanket. “I guarantee you won’t dream. I mean, _I_ never have…”

She snorts at that, a strangely endearing noise, and crawls across the bed only to collapse on the pillows. “Mm. Smells like you.”

“I should fuckin’ hope so,” he mutters, before coming to her side, pulling her boots off. “Now, are you gonna be alright in here?”

“Yes’m.”

“Sure?” He smiles slightly as she nods, eyes already closing. “Good.”

“Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t have t’take me in… back then, you know? You coulda walked away. But thank you… for helpin’ me.”

He leans over, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Shut up, Cassandra,” he whispers, “there was never any other choice.” And he retreats from the room, hitting the lights and settling down to a less-than-desirable night’s sleep on the couch.

He was fucking buying that damned bed in the morning.


	81. angst meme: "Are you feeling alright? You don't look it..."

Cassandra is the shield.

Strength. Power. Protection. She keeps them safe in the field, holds them together when they falter. She asks for nothing in return.

Varric wonders who shields _her_.

*

She is perfectly still, and that is the problem. The whetstone in her hand remains stationary, her sword untouched. Varric watches her for a long moment. He wonders how heavy her burdens are.

Haven had fallen. The Inquisitor… lost.

He knew how it felt to lose a hero.

“Are you feeling alright?” He crouches beside her, one hand light on her back. “You, uh… you don’t look it.”

She takes in a deep breath, nodding for a moment before shaking her head. “It will pass,” she says quietly.

He hesitates for a moment before leaning in. “Seeker, you don’t have to bear this alone, you know. We’re right here, when you’re ready.” Hauling himself up, he turns to move -

“Varric?” Her hand is tight on his wrist. “Do you believe in what we are doing?”

He hesitates before wrapping his fingers around her hand. “I believe in you,” he promises. “I believe in the Seeker.”

Her throat lets out a soft noise, and he pulls her into his chest as she cries, letting out the grief in the quiet of his arms.


	82. angst meme: "You are dying?" (A&E au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taken from the Doctor Pentaghast universe - part one.

It had started quietly - a cough he could not quite shake. He had shrugged it off - years of working around smokers, he had laughed, it would pass, it always did… except it didn’t.

And then, quite out of the blue, he had collapsed whilst making dinner - knocking over a pan of boiling water and scolding his hand in the process. She had called the EMTs directly, calm and controlled. It is only when they have him strapped to the gurney that she sees her hands trembling.

The waiting room seems strange from this side of the glass. She keeps her heart-rate steady, trying to stem the guilt in her chest. She should have caught it sooner, should have known -

“Doctor Pentaghast?” Krem appears in the doorway, a nervous look on his face. She smiles weakly up at his as she rises from the chair.

“Please, I am just… Cassandra. Just Cassandra today. How is he?”

Krem takes a deep breath. “Maybe we should sit down.”

Her heart drops, hands stilling. “ _Oh_.”

*

He is fussing with the bandages when she comes to him, muttering darkly under his breath. She lingers at the end of the bed.

“Varric?”

He does not look up. “Hey, Doc. Here for my sponge bath?” His tone is off, the smile half-hearted. It breaks her heart.

Reaching for his hand, she brings his knuckles to her lips. “You… are dying?” The question is a whisper, voice cracking in the middle, and he pulls her into a tight hug.

“I want a second opinion,” he mutters, “I want you to -”

“I did.” Her arms tighten around him, pressing a kiss to his crown. “I did, and I - I wish I had not.”

“Oh.”

“Varric, there is a chance, a slim chance - an experimental surgical technique -“

“Will it hurt?” His voice is small, fingers curling around her shirt.

She closes her eyes, resting her cheek against his head. “No. You will not feel a thing.”

“Could I - I mean, could it…”

“Fifty-fifty.” And she hates those odds, hates ever having to give them, but most of all she hates that he could go to sleep and never wake up, half-open on a table under the most skilled surgeon in the city. She hates that they could do everything right and _still_ lose -

She is shaking, and he presses his lips against her jaw, murmuring softly. “I love you. Maker, I love you, Cassandra.”

And it is that more than anything that breaks her, limbs curling around him as the dam breaks and she cries pitifully into his embrace, halting sobs as she clings to him, pressing her love into him with tight fingers and tear-streaked kisses.


	83. flowers meme - azalea (A&E au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azalea - fragile and ephemeral passion
> 
> Taken from the Doctor Pentaghast universe - part two!

He sleeps, that too-still sleep of the infirm.

Cassandra takes shifts that send her to other wards - paediatrics is always short of hands this time of year, and Josie provides her with enough cases to distract her mind whilst on shift.

But when she clocks out, she always comes back to his side, watching the monitors for the slightest change. Her hands come to love his, the feel of his rough skin underneath her delicate fingers, never quite holding on for fear he might shatter -

“I love you,” she breathes over his knuckles, as if the words might make him whole once more. “I am not ready for this story to end.”

*

Leandra sends her to get some sleep, promising to watch over him - she remembers who kept her children in high spirits when she was bedbound.

But the on-call room holds only memories of quick trysts and discovered passions, of love breathed between tender kisses and of soft smiles as they curled around one another in that secret space. She cannot bear to linger, never mind rest.

Her feet lead her in circles around the hospital, leading her back to his room -

“… and that’s when the dragon turned into a mysterious witch!”

She stops, stock still at the door. _Varric_. She peers in the door, her eyes widening at the sight of the two Hawke children sat at the end of the bed, enraptured by the story the man was spinning. His smile was tender, his eyes open, gesturing with open hands as he spoke of heroes and magic.

She clings to the doorframe, knees suddenly weak.

“Cassandra?”

Rutherford rests a hand on her back, a concerned look on his face. She looks up at him with a weak smile.

“He’s telling a story,” she murmurs, before burying her face in his chest and crying, the sheer relief washing over her.


	84. angst meme: "Please, you're scaring me."

She’s crying. Maker, she’s _crying_.

The fever would not have been anything to worry about if it was a normal day for the Seeker. But Varric’s eyes keep dropping to the rounding belly, the telltale signs of new life - their new life, their beat-the-odds miracle. Their child.

“Varric?” Vivienne’s voice breaks through his worry.

“Is she going to be alright?” He cannot bring himself to ask the more important question - will the child survive?

She senses his hesitation, her voice tender. “We need to break the fever. Talk to her, calm her down.”

He takes Cassandra’s hand, marveling at its slenderness. She’s muttering now, desperate prayers and whimpered sobs, and it tears at him.

“Seeker?”

She cannot hear him - wherever she is, she is all but lost.

“ _Please_. You’re scaring me, Seeker.” He presses his lips to the back of her hand. “Come home.”

Beside him, Vivienne casts waves of cold over her patient, her hands steady as the stone he might have prayed to. He closes his eyes, a prayer offered up for the babe within.

“Cassandra, _come home_.”

*

The fever breaks, and Varric breathes a little easier. His thumb rolls over her knuckles, a soft humming as the day turns to dusk.

“Varric?” Her voice is weak, tired, music to his ears. “Where -”

“Sshh, it’s getting late. You’re safe and sound in my much-comfier bed, okay?” He smiles, brushing her hair lightly with a finger. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” she admits.

“You had it pretty rough.” He will never tell her just how rough - the desperate fear that had clawed at him, clamped around his heart like a vise. “Get some sleep, Seeker.”

“I do not think I can.” She struggles to sit up. “Our little one is particularly active.”

His eyes widen, and she smiles softly, taking his hand and placing it on her stomach. The child within moves, and his fingers tighten around her.

“Shit,” he whispers, “that’s a _hell_ of a right hook.”

She laughs, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Just like her mother.”

“Her?”

Settling back against the pillows, she smirks. “You doubt me?”

He presses a kiss to her belly. “Never.”


	85. unprompted - get lucky

It’s been a few years now since Cassandra’s revelation, since the sheer joy of discovery, since morning sickness that would not abate and the upheaval of moving to Kirkwall, since that terrifying long night of her screams and his fears… since he met his daughter for the first time.

Maker, what a night.

*

They come back to Skyhold once a season.

Aunty Josie takes her off their hands, and they end up sharing a bottle of wine on the parapets, nostalgic and a little tipsy.

“Do you remember when Cullen almost found us up here?” she teases. “You were almost caught short.”

“Ha ha,” he drawls. “You must be drunk if you’re mocking my height.”

“I like your height, ass.” She shoves him, smile wry.

“I like your height better. I get a great view of your -”

“ _Varric!_ ”

He chuckles, pulling her in close and pressing a kiss to her neck. “And yet you still love me,” he says in a sing-song voice.

“I do,” she agrees, hand braced on his thigh as she turns to kiss him on the lips. “You are an incorrigible man, but a good father and a dear husband.”

“And you are a fantastic wife and an amazing mother.” He smiles broadly. “We should do it again.”

“What, get caught by Cullen? The poor man, that is hardly -”

“No, I mean -” And here he turns to face her, eyes wide. “Let’s have another kid.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“You don’t want to?”

“I - I assumed we had used up all our luck,” she admits, her eyes dropping. “Humans and dwarves, after all…”

“Hey.” He lifts her chin up slightly. “We’re fucking lucky. Look at us, Seeker, we’ve got a beautiful daughter, a home, great friends… each other…”

She smiles at that, reaching up to brush his hair from his face. “We are very lucky,” she murmurs.

“So?”

“So… what?”

“I wanna get luckier.” His finger trails lightly down her throat. “I want to be the luckiest son of a bitch in Kirkwall. I want it all - I want to give our daughter a brother or sister.” He tilts his head slightly, smiling as her own lips bloom into a soft grin. “What do you want, Cassandra?”

She leans forward, teeth light on his lower lip. “I want you,” she murmurs. “So get lucky.”


	86. flowers meme - yarrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yarrow - cure for a broken heart

The first time it happens, the first time she feels the cracks, she is a child - her brother, the central pillar of her short life, is slain before her eyes. Her heart fractures as she stays silent beneath the bedframe, trembling tears falling into the dust.

The second time it happens, she barely feels the pain - it is a slow descent into sorrow, crumbling edges of her heart giving way to the inevitability of time. Regalyan loves her, and she loves him, but the world they live in is unkind. And in the end, even brief hope is stolen from them.

The world burns around her. There is no hope left for a heart battered and bruised. She keeps it in a cage, for fear of watching it shatter anew.

*

She hates him. She hates his passion to protect his friends, his damned morals, his desire to make things good in a world too frequently turned upside-down. She hates his stupid smug face and his coarse hands and his clever words.

Maker, she hates his clever words most of all.

The way they tease at her, playful and coy, promising an ending she could not see for herself. He writes another book, because the Inquisitor asked him, teases her with it in that careful tone that asks forgiveness for his deceit, entreats her to apologise for her own mistakes, causes her to question the cage that still holds her back. And then he walks away.

Damn him. Damn him and that foolish Inquisitor, she will _never_ live this down -

“Wait!”


	87. flowers meme - sweet pea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet pea - delicate pleasures

He’s surprised when he first catches her at it - in the stables with Blackwall, hands clasped and laughter soft as she coaxes him with gentle words. Skulking by the door, Varric cannot quite believe it.

After all, it’s the _Seeker_ , all hard edges and shield-bashing. He _must_ have imagined it.

But then he finds her at it again - in the gardens, fingers entwined with Myra’s as the Inquisitor giggles her way through the affair - on the parapets after dusk with Cullen, voices low and smiles broad - in the abandoned top room of the inn with Cole, flustered laughter and blushes and a firm hand…

He never quite gathers the courage to ask her about it.

But he seeks out the Nightingale, because if anyone knew how he could best broach the subject, it would be the woman who saw all.

*

Halamshiral is a messy success, and as Myra and Cullen embrace on the balcony, Cassandra finds herself in the gardens, somewhat at a loss.

“Seeker.”

She turns at his voice, a slight smile on her lips. “Varric.”

“Enjoying the fresh air?”

“I prefer the atmosphere out here. I feel significantly less watched - though doubtless there are eyes even here.”

He tilts his head to concede the point, and she frowns slightly. He was tense, almost as if he were - nervous?

“Varric, what is wrong?”

“I, ah -” And his words falter, a sight she would once have made a snide comment about. But things are different now, things are warmer between them. Friends, of a sort. Her heart strains at the word - not quite right, not quite _enough._

And then he smiles, taking a deep breath in as he offers her a short bow, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

She raises an eyebrow, hesitant to take the offer. “What is -”

“I know you can. You like it, even. You’ve taught half the Inquisition. But you, ah… you never showed me.”

She feels a little foolish - it had hardly been a secret, but she had not gone out of her way to mention it. “I thought - well, it is silly.”

“Why?”

“A leftover from a life I rejected.”

“So?” His smile softens. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy it anyway.” He wiggles his fingers. “Come on, Seeker. Show me what you’ve got.”

There is something in his eyes, something that entreats to her - show me, show me everything, open up your heart to me - and she takes his hand with a soft laugh.

“Are you sure you can keep up?” she teases.

He grins up at her, the soft music from inside playing on as his free hand finds her waist and pulls her in close. “Try me, Cassandra.”


	88. flowers meme - ulmus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulmus - royalty, strength, age

Their stories are timeless and unending.

In one breath they rule Nevarra, her the chosen heir and he the consort that followed her. They bring reform, working for the people rather than for the dead. They are beloved.

In another breath they fight demons side by side, the shield-maiden and her brigand. His aim is true, her sword is strong, and they endure. Their legacy of blood brings in an age of peace.

In yet another they live a life of little consequence, raising a family on the outskirts of his city. They are a cornerstone of the community, her advice on defenses utilised and his wondrous tales adored. Her hair goes grey, his crow’s feet deepen, but always they look at each other with the same love of youth.

Always, they are together, equal.


	89. flowers meme - raspberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raspberry - remorse

The problem with words, thinks Cassandra dully as they ride back from Adamant, is that they cannot be taken back.

Hawke rides beside Varric, not quite the triumphant warrior. But then none of them are, not after such horrific discoveries - at the head of their convoy, even the Inquisitor sits low in the saddle.

_Conniving little shit!_

It had been nearly a whole month ago, but still it weighs on her. They had reached a friendship, after a fashion - a balance of playful teasing and respect earned through fire and steel. Hawke’s reappearance had shattered that balance.

Since then, they had not exchanged a word, save for the desperate calls during battle - after all, they did not wish to see the other dead.

Well, she amends mentally, risking a glance at the dwarf, she _hoped_.

She should apologise. She knows that much. He was protecting his friend - a noble act, truly. She had hoped, once, that he might go as far for _her_.

She cannot quite bring herself to say the words, despite the ache in her stomach.

*

The problem with words, thinks Varric as Hawke leans over to embrace him, is that they are somewhat final.

Oh, sure, they could be replaced, erased, destroyed, forgotten… but the intent behind them lingers.

She has not spoken to him in weeks. It is a jarring new reality after their comfortable peace - not that he had been complaining too much, with Hawke back. Sequestered away in the corner of the inn, they had spent every possible moment catching up on letters to their old companions, assurances of good health and looking after one another.

But he still felt the absence of the Seeker and her forthright arguments, her dry wit and surprising smiles. He looks over at her, the tight knot in his stomach hitching.

He should make up with her, he knows. After all, she had not intended for any of… this. The Inquisition was never supposed to be brought back. In this imperfect world, he cannot even begin to conceive its true intentions.

In this imperfect world, she would probably strangle him.

*

The Inquisitor and Hawke set up the tents, quick to ensconce themselves into one - leaving Dorian, Varric and Cassandra with the remaining two.

Cassandra takes a deep breath. “I will take the watch,” she offers, “I think sleep will elude me anyway.” And without another word, she slips out of the light of the fire to fetch more wood from the supplies.

Dorian casts a look at Varric. Varric lets out a soft sigh.

“Go sleep, Sparkler. I’ll relieve her later.”

The mage quickly ducks out, leaving the dwarf sat by the fire. The Seeker brings fuel, careful not to leave it too close to the flames, before rummaging for her whetstone.

“Do not feel obliged to keep me company,” she murmurs. “You must be tired.”

He starts at her words, surprised. “Oh, uh - I’m exhausted,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. Not after… all of that, back there.”

She nods understanding, sitting apart from him as she tends to her weapons.  
The silence around them is almost comfortable – almost.

Varric glances over at her, noticing the weariness in her own frame – the slumped shoulders, the dull eyes, the –

“Seeker? Are you… are you crying?”

She stills, reaching up to wipe her face with her cuff. “So it would seem,” she says. “My body remains tired, despite my racing thoughts.”

He swallows. “You should sleep,” he offers, and she looks up at him.

“So should you, and yet –“ She stops, startled, and he glances behind him.

“What?”

“Varric, _you_ are crying.” She reaches out with a tender touch, brushing an errant tear from his cheek.

“Oh.” He wipes at his own face, chuckling softly. “Yeah, well. Tired, clearly.”

She smiles slightly. “Of course.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. His shoulders relax. Her arm drops.

And then they meet in the middle, a fierce embrace as she wraps her arms around him, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he hugs her close. Their bodies press together, desperate for comfort.

“I hate the Fade,” he mumbles.

“Awful place,” she agrees in a whisper.

In the weak moonlight, words that still stick in the throat are not needed, not anymore.


	90. Fancy words meme - Apodyopis (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone

The problem is, thinks Varric as they ride through the Emerald Glades, the real problem is that he _knows_.

Cassandra takes point, because Cassandra _always_ takes point, and he can see her inbetween the gap left by Myra and Dorian as he brings up the rear. And it really would not be so bad if they were travelling a little faster – fast enough that he would have to concentrate more on staying on the damned horse, fast enough that he would not be so overtly staring –

But her body moves with the horse’s pace, back flexing in step, and the problem is that he _knows_ what her back looks like now. He has seen under the layers, gotten over her walls and stripped her bare – quite literally – and watched in amazement as her body undulated, one hand in her hair and the other fisted in his and his tongue between her legs –

He shakes his head sharply. _Not helping_.

But the thoughts come unbidden – after all, he could suggest that the humidity was too much, get her to slip out of a few layers of armour. Maybe she would even cotton on to his idea, that wry smirk as she turned her back to him, slowly peeling off the tunic to reveal toned muscles that he desperately desired to touch, sweat beading down her back just like when he’s inside her –

He shifts in the saddle. The problem is that he knows, and there is nowhere in this damned area to pull over and refresh his memory.


	91. fancy words meme - Cagamosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cagamosis - an unhappy marriage

She is not unhappy, she knows that – knows intimately the misery and despair, and swore never to allow it back into her heart.

But she knows she is not happy _enough_ , and that might just be worse.

She misses him, she truly does – comes to resent Kirkwall for keeping him busy, comes to resent the Order for tying her hands to Crestwood, _longs_ for those heady days where they had less responsibility and a soft bed and softer smiles, stupid clichés bandied around with every ounce of feeling behind them.

But when they manage to grab a night or two together, the old patter sets in – biting remarks and sarcastic jibes, and it all feels just a little too _sharp_. It is the pressure, she tells herself, the pressure of trying to rebuild the world right. 

Still…

They come together before they even make it to the bed, a snatched fumble against the bedroom door, her fingers painfully tight in his hair and the telltale red marks on her hips that would no doubt become bruises in the morning, and he looks up at her with clear eyes and tells her that he loves her, really _does_ still love her.

And she _knows_ , she does. But she cannot quite bring herself to say it with words.


	92. fancy words meme - Agelast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agelast - one who never laughs

He’s a funny guy. He knows it – _revels_ in it! – and uses it to his advantage more often than he probably should.

And yet his greatest failure is Cassandra Pentaghast.

Okay, so maybe she was never really going to laugh during his interrogation – the story of Hawke isn’t exactly one he plays for laughs. But even his exaggerations merit only a raised eyebrow. He’s almost offended, but for the sharpness of her shoulders that indicates her deep-seated worries. There is something much bigger than his pride at stake, at least for her.

When she drags him across Thedas, he rather fancies he’s been granted a second chance – but the ground underneath him is cold and unforgiving, and he’s in no mood for jokes.

*

His humour comes back around the time that the Herald laughs at an unintended pun, and by the end of the evening he’s managed to put a smile on everyone’s face. 

Except for Cassandra Pentaghast’s.

She is not even with them – instead he finds her slowly walking around the training area, unarmed but probably just as deadly.

“Do you ever even _smile?_ ” he asks, and he _knows_ she does, has heard rumours of it, gossip around the campfire when she did not accompany them out in the field, but the reluctance to smile around _him_ has not gone unnoticed.

She snorts, throwing a glare at him, and he grins.

“You know, you’d probably get better confessions if you smiled. Catching more flies with honey, so to speak.” He shrugs. “ _I’d_ probably have talked a lot quicker.” It’s a half-hearted tease, and complete bullshit, but it stops her pacing.

“You are ridiculous, dwarf.”

“Varric.”

“Oh, so _your_ nicknames are perfectly acceptable, but anyone deigning to use a familiar term with _you_ is wrong?”

She’s sharp and fast, and he tucks that information away for another time. For now he laughs, a short noise. “Trust me, Seeker, _that’s_ not familiar. Although I’m sure Bull would be happy to show you the definition of that word…”

And maybe it’s that they had a good day, maybe it’s the idea that the Iron Bull might ever win her over, or maybe it’s just the moonlight and the exhaustion and the respite from the end of the world, but something shifts in her demeanour.

She smiles, a twist of the lips that changes the shape of her face entirely. He stares, cannot help but stare at the curve of her cheeks and the gentleness of her eyes as her teeth emerge from behind enchanting lips.

Maker, she was _breath-taking._

And then she laughs, a soft noise that lights up her face wonderfully, and Varric knows he is utterly doomed.


	93. fancy words meme - wanweird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanweird - an unhappy fate

The Seeker comes to Kirkwall for answers.

The guards bring her face after face, dwarf after dwarf, never the right one.

“Where is he? Where is Varric Tethras?”

But none of them have an answer. She moves on to humans, less loyal to the Stone but ferociously protective of a man they count as their own.

And then she meets Aveline.

*

It is Kirkwall’s greatest secret.

There was a man, once – a Marcher from Kirkwall, second son of an Orzammar outcast. Scoundrel with a heart of gold, they said. Everyone knew the stories, written or not. Everyone had met him, or claimed to have met him. Everyone owed him something – though he rarely collected on it.

And then he died.

The details are vague – landslide, some suggested, whilst others spoke of a duel and yet others still would claim he was still alive, evading taxes – but Aveline knows the truth. She was there, the day the Stone claimed its lost son.

*

“You never forget the screaming,” she says softly, “not even after a decade. He was in awful pain.”

Cassandra’s fingers trace the cover of the book. “You did him a great service.”

“I suppose.” Her voice is worn, an edge of guilt. Cassandra understood that well.

*

His brother had betrayed him, and they had traversed the caves around the Deep Roads for weeks seeking the exit. He was quiet, then – too quiet. And then the noise had erupted from his lips and had not stopped.

A cut, the tiniest little thing, bright red and glowing and the veins surrounding it awfully dark… they had no idea what it was at the time. Now they had a name for the poison – a sliver of red lyrium, a shard that swam in his blood until it pierced his heart.

Aveline had killed him, to save him the pain.

Underneath the Free Marches, they had lain his body to rest – found a patch of dirt amongst the rock and buried him properly before finding the path to the surface. They were united in their grief, drinking at the Hanged Man in his honour.

And then a boy had come to them, asking for Varric’s help on behalf of his mother, and Hawke had promised the man would be there for them.

*

“And that’s really when it all started.” She shrugs lightly. “People still needed Varric’s help, and we gave it to them, in his name. Nobody minded if he didn’t show up personally, as long it sounded like he had a hand in the matter. The Guild were dealt with by Sebastian, given his experiences with political bullshit. Hawke and Fenris did most of the real work, and with his finances easily signed over to the Champion we were never short of funds. Isabela made trades in his name, kept the coin coming in. Merrill was the one with her ear to the ground. Anders…”

Cassandra reaches out to touch the woman’s shoulder lightly. “It was not your fault.”

“Don’t patronise me, Seeker. Good people are dead.” She pulls away, shaking her head slightly. “You have your answers. Varric’s alive in the heart of this city, but he didn’t write your damned book.”

The woman straightens. “Then who did?”

“Maker only knows. It was nothing to do with us.”

“I see.” She regards the cover once more, frowning slightly. A gift from beyond the Fade – or, in this case, Stone. It was a little _too_ convenient. But the Divine needed answers, and Aveline had admitted that most of the stories were true, with the obvious exceptions of Varric’s presence.

She wonders, for a moment, what he was like. Would he have told her everything, given the chance? Would he have helped her understand this chaos?

Would he have bewitched her, like the lovers in one of his stories?

*

Beneath the Free Marches is a grave, visited by few.

Aveline returns, a handful of marigolds to brighten up the dark.

“Did you tell her?”

She shakes her head. “I barely believe it myself,” she admits. “I knew you were writing, but…”

“It’s a good story,” murmurs Anders, “and I’ve had enough practice with writing fictions.”


	94. fancy words meme - Malapert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malapert - clever in manners of speech

She has always been rather straight-talking, so the first time she parries his verbal riposte he is quite taken by it.

“Think you’ll _ever_ go back to Nevarra, Seeker?”

“Why? Are you so eager to see me go?”

Once, he would have gladly seen the back of her. It is a strange thought, now. But he’s feeling daring, and she’s not threatened anyone lately, so he tries his luck.

“I wasn’t, actually.” He smirks. “But, now that you _mention_ it…”

Without missing a beat, she shoots back, “how do you know I wouldn’t just drag you along?”

He stops in his tracks, a broad smile spreading over his face.

“Be still my heart! I’ve grown on you!”

He means it, too. Their friendship has become quite the soft spot for him, and he is confident enough to assume the same of her. Indeed, the quirk of her lips at his words makes his grin widen. 

“Like fungus,” she drawls, fingers light on his shoulder as she passes.


	95. fancy words meme - Cagamosis (again!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cagamosis - an unhappy marriage

He loves her. He knows in his heart he still loves her with that wide-eyed youthful passion that had gotten him into a world of trouble all those years ago.

But time has not been kind to them – she’s colder, driven by her work, barely home and he’s not inclined to wait for her before surrendering to his baser desires. Drink replaces affection, and his eyes are more tender when staring through the bottom of the glass than when he’s looking at her sober.

But they remain, because that’s all they have ever known.

*

He spends his days in the museum, because he likes the quiet, and the stories of the past are always more interesting than the reality of the now. But today the peace is broken by schoolchildren.

“… and through here is the main exhibit on the Great Inquisition, the triumph of the Dragon Age, scant few years after a Blight… truly a terrible time to be alive.”

He glances up at the voice -

_Maker’s breath._

A tall woman leads the small tour group, legs as far as they eye could see and a sharp eye behind those wire-frame glasses that, he suspected, saw far more than they had any right to.

Something stirs in his chest.

“Actually,” he says, raising his voice slightly, “the Great Inquisition started about a decade later. Which doesn’t sound like a huge deal, but…” He shrugs, smiling at the woman. “A lot can change in a decade.”

And there’s more truth behind those words than any he’s said in years.

She purses her lips, but there is a glint in her eyes. “I did not realise we were entertaining an expert. Class, this is…” She trails off, inviting him to introduce himself.

“An admirer,” he responds, “of greatness. And the Inquisition was truly great.”

“Agreed.” She turns to her group, smiling slightly. “Please, do not touch anything. Take notes on each of the key members of the Inquisition – Harding, Aclassi and the Chargers all count towards your assignment.”

The children bunch together, soft chatter as she performs a quick headcount. He sidles up to her.

“Sorry to sidetrack you,” he offers quietly, and she lets out a soft chuckle.

“No harm done. Besides, it is not often you meet a fellow… admirer,” she says in low tones that send a thrill down his spine.

He can feel it – the spark of something long thought dead in his chest rising up to meet her. She offers a hand, and he cups it gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Varric,” he says. “Like the one from the Inquisition.”

“Cassandra,” she responds, smile gentle. “Nice to meet you, storyteller.”

He grins. “And you, Seeker. And you.”


	96. fancy words meme - cheiloproclitic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someone’s lips

She thought, for a very long time, that it was just his words, his voice, his stories of heroes and humans and hard days. She was enraptured when he talked, it was a fair assumption. And then she found her heart quickened at his other words, his playful teases, or – worst of all, her heart screamed, truly worst of all – when he said nothing with words and everything with expressions. A quirk of his mouth in amusement. That ridiculous grin when Bull talked about dragons. That faux-pout he would pull out at any mention of their turbulent relationship.

And then she knew.

His lips… Maker help her, but his _lips_ … if she were any good with words, she might write a thousand in ode of those lips. She knows she has stared more often than is proper, half-fancies that he caught her once or twice – or more. But he says nothing of it, and she is left wondering. Ah, but for a moment of clarity…

It is an ordinary night in the inn when he sidles over, sweeping her hand from the table as if it were a prize.

“Varric, what are you -”

He kisses her hand, eyes meeting hers over the ridge of her knuckles. “Cassandra,” he says quietly, slowly, and her eyes follow the curve of his mouth as he pronounces her name. “Have dinner with me.”

She can feel the heat in her cheeks, the rough leather of his gloves as her fingers tighten around his. The world shrinks away for a moment, and she finally takes a breath.

“Oh – _yes_. Yes, I – I would like that.”


	97. fancy words meme - petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor spoilers for the Descent DLC - nothing related to plot, just the circumstances - and set afterwards.
> 
> Petrichor - the scent of the first rain in the dry season

The elevator ascends, and Varric breathes fresh air with the urgency of a drowning man. Beside him, the Seeker squeezes his shoulder lightly before pulling away, a murmured conversation with Dorian as daylight begins to filter through.

He was lucky, he realises, to have a friend like Cassandra. The Inquisitor had been swamped with problems, Dorian had been more concerned with keeping his limbs attached, and Shaperate Valta… well, the less said, the better. But Cassandra had held his hand in the dark and promised him that he would not be alone – and even more amazingly, she had delivered. The only night she had not sat with him had been due to Dorian’s caution after a particularly vicious ogre attack, insisting on bedrest for the woman who had been thrown around like a stuffed doll.

He had kept watch over her, that night, and she had thanked him. _Ridiculous woman_ , he thinks now with a slight smile.

There is something in Scout Harding’s eyes, a look of familiarity as they disembark the elevator. “Glad to be back?” she asks.

“You have _no_ idea,” he murmurs – but she probably does. All surfacer dwarves had their stories. She nods before updating the Inquisitor on the messages sent from Skyhold.

*

Dorian wants to ride on to Rainsfere, but as Orzammar falls away behind them,  the crack of thunder rolls through the hills and the Inquisitor suggests stopping whilst there are still caves to shelter in.

The rain hits them just as the horses are being fed. Varric closes his eyes, facing the sky with a broad smile as he lets the rain beat down on him. He can hear the Inquisitor shouting from the cave entrance, but he pays her little mind.

“Varric?”

Beside him, Cassandra stands with her shield held up over her head, the _rin-tin-tin_ of the rain against the steel getting heavier.

“You know,” he says with a laugh, “maybe this Ferelden weather isn’t so bad.”

She mirrors his smile, lowering the shield as she looks up to the sky with a squint.

“Perhaps not,” she agrees.

 _Thud_.

The mudball hits her shoulder, and she glares at it for a moment before narrowing her eyes and watching him. He grins, fingers wiggling as he threatens to grab more.

“Oh, you _little_ shit,” she growls, and the shield is dropped as she scoops up a handful and hurls it, smacking him right in the face with a barking laugh.

They chase each other around for a good while, throwing half-hearted insults between bouts of laughter and fistfuls of mud, and Varric is quite sure the Inquisitor and Dorian have abandoned them for more intellectual pursuits. But as he glances over at the cave mouth, she takes advantage of his distraction and sweeps his legs out from underneath him with a triumphant cry. Not to be outdone, he grabs at her ankles, pulling her over on top of him.

“You’re too cocky,” he teases as she groans.

“Shut up.” The thunder rolls around them, the rain getting heavier. She groans again, and he sits up, rolling her off his legs.

“You alright?”

“My head -”

He pulls her into a sitting position, wiping the mud from her forehead with a frown. “Shit, you’re bleeding. Did you hit something sharp?”

“Too cocky,” she says, reaching up to probe the small cut. “I should have quit whilst I was ahead.”

He hurriedly wipes his hand on his coat before taking a closer look. “Just a small one. You okay?”

She nods, leaning back on her hands and taking a deep breath. “You are right. The weather is quite nice. It is nice to _feel_ weather again,” she murmurs, closing her eyes. “Wind and rain.” 

His fingers trail down her cheek, light against her scars. “Seeker,” he repeats, softer now. “Thanks. For being there, in the dark.”

She leans into the touch, rolling her head slightly. “You would have done the same for any of us.”

“You know that’s not -”

“ _Varric_.” She smiles slightly. “Any other place, and you would have been the one telling stories and keeping spirits up. We would _all_ do the same for you.”

He shuffles slightly, palm flat against her cheek. “Just you,” he points out quietly.

She opens her eyes, the slight surprise at his closeness evident in the blush across her cheeks. “Dorian was -”

“ _Just_ you,” he repeats, fingers curling into the short hair at the base of her neck.

A strange moment passes, the rain still falling heavily around them, and Varric is quite sure this means exactly what he thinks it means – the tentative heat curling in his stomach, the terribly precise feel of her skin against him, his traitorous heart beating a little too loud, her soft sweet parted lips -

“Well,” she says finally, voice thicker as she swallows, “I made a poor replacement – my stories cannot hold a candle to yours.”

He smiles. “Oh, I don’t know,” he admits, his own voice low as he leans in. “You are _quite_ enchanting, Seeker.”

“Varric -”

“Cassandra.” Her name on his tongue is enough, more than enough for her hands to reach for him, pulling him the rest of the way as their lips meet in a soft press. She tastes of rain and mud and something indescribably _her,_ and he savours this first moment with all the reverence it deserves.

He pulls back, grinning as his forehead rests against hers. “Quite enchanting,” he says again, and she laughs as her fingers come up to trail across his jaw.

“And I thought dwarves were not capable of magic,” she teases.

His jaw drops, a laugh escaping him. “Shit, Seeker, that’s a _great_ line!”

Across the field, Dorian’s voice breaks through the rain. “You’ll catch your deaths out there, and I’m not hauling your corpses back to Skyhold!”

Varric presses a quick kiss to her cheek before hauling himself up, offering her a hand. “So, uh…”

She looks up at him with a smile. “Yes, Varric, you can use that line in a future story.”

He grins, pulling her to her feet. “Excellent. Of course, I’m fully prepared to negotiate for it.” His free hand tugs at her waist, pulling her in close. “Maybe once we’re out of these wet clothes.”

“That sounds amenable,” she murmurs, hands lightly framing his face. “Of course, I would like to work out some form of long-term payment plan… if that is acceptable.” There is a hesitant look in her eyes, and he squeezes her waist.

“As long as you like, Seeker. As long as you like.”

*

He spends the next week sneezing, of course, but the smile remains.


	98. "You can barely stand!"

Cullen is the unfortunate soul on ‘Seeker supervision’ the day she decides to get out of bed.

“Cassandra, you need to pace yourself. You can barely stand.”

She grunts, hauling herself up on Cullen’s shoulder. “I will not lie here forever like some idle -”

“Cassandra Pain-in-the-ass Pentaghast,” growls a familiar voice from the doorway, “get _back_ into that _fucking_ bed.”

She stops, looking up at Cullen. “I am tired of being treated like a child,” she mutters, but assents as Varric enters the room with hot soup and a bushel of papers. “Varric, I am -”

“You are a pain in the _ass_ ,” he repeats, “and you almost _died_ , which makes you the _last_ person I’m gonna believe when it comes to your health.” He looks up at the Commander, smiling slightly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her, Curly. Drinks on me when she’s better, alright?”

“Any time, Varric.” The man claps him on the shoulder as he leaves none-too-slowly.

Cassandra glares from the bed. “I am -”

“I am _not_ having this conversation again,” Varric snaps, a sharpness to his voice that surprises her. “You broke seven bones and cracked your _skull_ , you could barely _breathe_ when they brought you in on that stretcher and I have _never_ seen so much blood since the Arishok -” He stops, taking a deep breath. “You might have _died_ ,” he says softly, “and I wasn’t there. I _should_ have been there.”

“I _am_ sorry,” she murmurs, reaching for his hand. “I did not plan to bear the brunt of the dragon’s attack. But Varric, you cannot blame yourself for any of this.”

“Watch me,” he mutters, but he pulls her hand to his lips, feather-light as he kisses her knuckles.

“Varric -”

“Eat your soup. It’s good for you.”

“I do not _want_ soup.”

“Seeker -”

She yanks him down, mouth pressing hard against his, fingers curling around his neck. For a moment, the passion makes her feel light-headed – or is that the crack to the head? She is loathe to admit he might be right.

He pulls back with some reluctance, unable to stop the smile that comes to his face. “You’re not gonna persuade me to let you get out of bed _that_ way,” he points out in a low voice.

She smiles, the first true one of the day. “I know. But soup and stories can only heal me so much.”

“It’s a good start. Indulge me, alright? And maybe later we can talk about going for a very short walk.” He shoots her a stern look. “ _Very_ short.”

She leans back, nodding. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Merchant,” he reminds her, handing her the bowl before picking up the half-finished manuscript. “Now, where did I leave the Knight-Captain last time…?”


	99. "Let me take care of you." & "How long have you been sick?"

Cassandra notices before anyone else.

“Varric?”

The dwarf does not even look up from the fire, responding with a soft noise.

“Varric, are you -”

“M'fine,” he murmurs. “Just tired.”

She hesitates for a long moment, glancing around at the rest of camp – the others busy themselves with menial tasks before bed. She perches beside him, _really_ looking at him. His face is gaunt, eyes dull and glassy, and the sweat on his brow was nothing to do with the fire.

“How… how long have you been sick?” she asks softly, her hand on his arm.

“Just tired,” he repeats, quieter now.

“ _Varric_.”

He closes his eyes. “Seeker -”

“It is this place. All the dust in the air – I have seen how it glitters.”

He does not say anything, but his hand finds hers, a weak squeeze.

“The Inquisitor would not think less of you if -”

“I have to stay.” His voice is hoarse but sharp. “Seeker, if I’m not here, who would be in my stead?”

She considers this. “Cole, I imagine.”

“Exactly.” He swallows. “Kid’s only halfway human, I couldn’t – shit, if _he_ breathes this stuff in?”

“But _I_ am fine. We are _all_ fine -”

“Lyrium sings in the Fade. He said so. But what does red lyrium do?”

“I -”

He takes in a shaky breath. “It _screams_.”

She wants to embrace him, wants to pull him into a tight hug and promise that it would all be over. But she can feel the tension in him, that desire to appear strong, and she cannot bring herself to break the illusion.

Instead, she squeezes his hand.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispers. “Let me help you.”

“Seeker -”

“You cannot keep going like this. Not alone.”

“I just need to rest -”

She presses her lips to his knuckles. “ _Varric_.”

He turns to look at her, finally – finally, with wide eyes that look a little clearer as he takes in a deep breath.

“Cassandra?”

“You cannot endure this alone, and you do not have to. _Please._ ”

He hesitates for a moment, before nodding, leaning into her slightly. “Alright.”

She smiles slightly. “Thank you.”

He does not quite manage one back, but there is a little less weight in his eyes. “Are you thanking _me_ for letting you -”

“Have you eaten?”

“Not really -”

“Do you think you can stomach -”

“ _Seeker_.” He finally smiles, small but sure. “Can we just sit here and enjoy the hand-holding?”

She blinks, before resting her head against his shoulder, her cheeks red in the firelight as she murmurs quietly.

“Who said I was going to let go?”


	100. "Did you just cough - blood?" version one

It takes him four years to come back.

“Most Holy, there is a man – a dwarf, asking for you -”

Divine Victoria smiles thinly. “Oh?”

“He asked me to tell you that… that the Knight-Captain’s final chapter is ready.”

She laughs, a rich noise. “Please, send him in. I will attend to his prayers.”

The porter holds the door open, and in shuffles a familiar face, old duster hanging limply off his shoulders as he raises his hand to wave. But then he coughs. Cassandra rather thinks he looks ill.

She hates to think it, but Varric looks like _shit_.

She rushes to his side, one hand on his back as he coughs, his body shuddering with the noise.

“Varric, are you coughing – _blood?_ ”

He waves her off, bringing his breathing under control as he straightens. She can see it in his eyes – the desire to be flippant, to appease her. But he simply smiles sadly.

“Yeah. It’s, ah… it’s not looking good, Most Holy.”

And her heart tightens at the words. “Do not call me that. Please.”

“I can’t really afford to piss off the big guy today,” he admits, shrugging.

“But you would upset his envoy?” she points out, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the bench on the balcony. “Varric, what happened?”

“There was a sickness, in the Alienage back home.”

“I heard of the losses. But they said it was only affecting the elves – we sent word to the Lavellan clan for healers -”

“It was. But I’m old and run-down, and I stayed too long.”

Her grip on his hand is tight. “Merrill?”

He nods. “She survived the worst of it. Broody wasn’t around, and I told him to stay away until the epidemic passed. Other weren’t so lucky.”

“I will travel back with you -”

“I’m not going back.”

She stares at him. “ _Varric_ -”

“I won’t -” He stops, swallowing as he stares out into the bright afternoon sky. “I won’t make it.”

“You – you cannot be serious. You came all this way to… to _die?_ ”

“I came here because I wanted to tell you what I was too scared to tell you all those years ago.” He cups her face with one hand, thumb light across her lips. “I’m… _really_ glad I stayed.”

And she manages a smile, despite the tears tracking down her cheeks. “I am glad you stayed too,” she whispers.

“I love you, Cassandra.”

“I love you, Varric.”

He grins up at her, and even though the edges are fraying and his eyes are weaker, she can still feel something intensely him behind it. “Put in a good word for me, yeah? Not sure if dwarves can make it to the Maker’s side.”

“Oh,” she breathes, pulling him into a tight embrace. “You will find your way there, if I have to escort you myself.”

*

She lays him to rest three days later, the last act of Cassandra Pentaghast.


	101. "Did you just cough - blood?" version two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a true story. Rockstar AU ahoy!

His ears are still ringing from the bar, Isabela’s chants of _shots shots shots_ resonating in his head. Beside him, Cassandra coughs.

“You alright, Seeker?”

She waves him off, but the coughing continues, and when she stops to lean against the wall he feels dangerously sober watching her hack her guts out.

“Shit, are you coughing – blood?”

She tries to respond, but a strange look comes over her face and she turns away abruptly to throw up. Whatever comes out, Varric knows it is red. He rubs her back, making what he hopes are soothing noises.

“Come on, Seeker. Hospital.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“That’s blood. That’s _bad_.”

“It’s not -” She retches again, but it turns into another messy cough, and he swears under his breath.

“Hospital,” he repeats, stronger now as he tugs on her arm, flagging down a taxi.

*

He paces outside the curtain, wincing every time she makes a retching noise. Eventually, the doctor emerges with a wry smile.

“You are her emergency contact, yes? Varric Tethras?”

He blinks, but nods, filing that particular information away for later. “Is she -”

“Perfectly fine,” Doctor Solas confirms. “You could be mistaken, given your intoxication, for thinking that cherry sours looked remarkably like blood.” And he pats the man on the shoulder as he heads off to see his other patients.

He ducks his head in through the curtain. “Seeker?”

“I told you,” she says weakly, clutching the bucket tightly. “ _Not_ blood.” And she manages a smile that makes his heart beat stronger.

“Smartass. Next time Rivaini suggests shots, pick something a little less… bright.”

She laughs. the noise turning into a groan as she throws up again. “I am _never_ drinking again…”


	102. Multiprompt - NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m really horny, and you’re really hot. Can we fuck? Like, now?”   
> “I wanna see you get naked.”   
> “You’re getting me all worked up.”   
> “What do we have here?”

He isn’t expecting her. He really isn’t expecting her not to knock, either.

“What do we have here?”

Varric swears under his breath, trying to stuff himself back into his pants, but it is too late – the sharp intake of breath is enough for him to know she has caught him. She closes the door quickly, leaning against it.

_“Varric!”_

“What?”

“You were -”

He grunts, fingers clumsy on the laces of his trousers. “Yeah, yeah. Mock me all you want, Seeker -”

She crosses the room swiftly to cut him off, one hand lifting his jaw as she presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Why would I do that?” she murmurs, and he aches for her, his hands reaching to keep her close.

“Seeker -”

“You look lonely, dwarf. Did you miss me whilst I was at training?” There is a lilt to her tone, a playful streak, and he grins, staring up at her.

“You’re getting me all worked up again,” he warns. “I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

She smirks, a predatory look in her eyes as she pushes him to sit on the edge of the bed, straddling him. “Oh? And what actions might they be?”

His hands slide up her waist, mouth hit against her neck. “Well, for starters, I wanna see you get naked, so I’m gonna tear your shirt off with my teeth.”

She chuckles, one hand running through his hair. “Tease.”

“It’s not teasing if I intend to make good on it,” he points out, before tugging at the collar of her tunic with his teeth.

“Varric -”

He growls, and she shivers above him, pushing him back as she strips herself of the garment, throwing it over his shoulder. He claims her skin, all tempered teeth and hot kisses and desperate fingers tugging at her breastband until she is gasping and writhing in his grasp.

“I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m really horny, and you’re really hot. Can we fuck? Like, now?”

Her hips rut against him, the heat of her core against his cock as she pants above him.

“Varric - Maker take you, _please_ -”

One hand splayed at the small of her back, he flips her over, sliding off the edge of the bed to line himself up against her. “You always know the right thing to say,” he teases, before slamming home.


	103. Partners meme - forbidden love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters are suspected of being lovers, which is forbidden in their line of work

“I saw them together.”

“They’re _always_ together.”

“Yes, but -”

“Come on,” laughs the recruit. “She tolerates him at best.”

“His hair was a mess -”

“That is not proof of anything -”

The gossip always stops when she walks in.

*

Half the force believes them to be rutting in every room. Half the force believes them grudging allies.

They are all wrong.

*

“Hey.”

She smiles weakly as he sits next to her on the park bench, passing her coffee. “Thank you.”

“You alright, Seeker?”

“I am tired. Nothing more.”

He regards her for a moment, before staring straight ahead. “You’re going to suggest we stop before someone catches us.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Good. Because I _really_ don’t want to.”

Her hand finds his, gripping tightly. “I love you.”

“Oh.”

“You are surprised.”

“A bit. Not exactly something I expected to hear today.” He grins into his coffee. “Do you really?”

“I do not lie.”

“I know, I just wanted you to say it again.”

She laughs, turning her head slightly to look at him. “I love you, Varric.”

He swallows, squeezing her hand. “I love you too, Seeker. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“We’ll get through this.”

They watch the world go by, hand in hand.


	104. Partners meme - trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the characters has been through a traumatic event

Varric is still in the ICU.

Oh, his recovery is going as well as could be expected for such an experimental procedure, and Krem is an excellent doctor, but Cullen is still concerned about the dwarf’s progress… and Cassandra’s.

She had thrown herself back into work with alarming speed since he had found her outside Varric’s room, and he had to wonder whether she had actually gone home yet – when she was not on shift, she was working locum cases or checking Varric’s charts whilst he slept.

He was concerned, to say the least. Cassandra had been a loyal friend to him through medical school, helping him with his prescription addictions. He did not want to see her disappear too.

Sticking his head through the door of the staff room, he spots her.

“Doctor Pentaghast, might I have a word?”

She glances up from her textbook. “Rutherford?” She frowns. “Is Varric -”

“Fine. Last I saw, he was complaining about his pillows again.”

“He does that,” she says dryly, closing her book and patting the chair next to her. “What troubles you?”

He reaches for her hand, squeezing it softly. “How are you holding up with all of this?”

She smiles weakly. “I am fine. A little busy, but -”

“You’ve barely stopped.”

“I have always been this way.”

He tilts his head, watching her carefully. “You have,” he agrees, “but you used to go home.”

“Varric is here.”

“Cassandra,” he murmurs, squeezing her hand. “Talk to me.”

She hesitates for a moment, closing her eyes. “It… it is hard,” she admits. “I am not used to being on the wrong side of this situation. I should be able to help him, after all – I am a doctor.”

“You know it’s not that simple.”

She nods, and a tear slips down her cheek. “I know. In my head, I know. But my heart… Cullen, I cannot bear it.”

He shuffles closer, one arm over her shoulder as he pulls her close. “He’s in the best hands.”

“I know.”

He rests his chin on her head. “You can’t run yourself into the ground, you know.”

She laughs softly. “It is quite easy to do. You of all people must remember that.”

“Which is why I’m telling you to stop.” He pulls back, smiling gently at her. “Go home, Cassandra. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight, I’m on the late shift anyway.”

She hesitates, but nods. “Alright.” She takes a deep breath, before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You are too good to me, Rutherford.”

“Someone’s got to be,” he points out, “until your dwarf gets better.”

She laughs at that. A small victory, but a good one.


	105. AU meme: writer/editor

He sits across from her, swallowing. Cassandra Pentaghast – the Dragon of Thedas World Books – flicks through the manuscript lazily. His usual editor refused to touch the thing. _Romance_ , she said, _was dead.  
_

“This part does not make sense. They are not even _facing_ one another, how could he have possibly kissed her from such an angle?” She shoves the pages over.

He rolls his eyes. “Use your imagination.”

“I have _tried_.”

“Then might I be permitted to demonstrate?”

She balks. “You – you want to -”

“Don’t worry, your virtue is safe. I just mean how they were positioned.” He steps around the desk, hands on her shoulders as he ducks his head to her ear. “See? Perfectly reasonable.”

“We are both facing the same direction,” she drawls.

“May I further demonstrate?” At her nod, he brings a hand up to her chin, fingers light as he tilts her head back and to the side. He smiles slightly, recalling the awful dialogue. “If I were _you_ , Knight-Captain, I’d invest in better locks.”

Her breath catches, and the air is suddenly close around them. He can see her pulse at the exposed part of her neck quickening. The urge to kiss that trembling spot is overwhelming. Hell, the urge to kiss any part of her is suddenly and ridiculously overpowering. His eyes drop to her lips, and as if on cue, her tongue darts out to wet them.

_Fuck._

“You might not be so cocksure,” she murmurs, and it takes him a moment to recall that he wrote the words, “when you realise I have a dagger already trained on you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replies,  and if his voice wavers she does not comment.

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes.

He swallows, his finger trailing down her throat with a feather-light touch. “I could… further demonstrate –“

The phone rings, jarring and loud, and they both flinch back as if burned.

She snatches it up. “Historical department.”

He slinks back to his seat, not meeting her eyes as she makes the call brief, hanging up carefully.

“My apologies, I thought I had cleared my schedule -”

“It’s fine,” he assures her. “I’m already imposing anyway.”

“Could we… rearrange? I have a few more notes.”

“Sure.”

She smiles, a soft expression that looks both strange and perfectly normal in the same breath.

His heart skips. _Traitorous thing._


	106. AU meme: soulmates (but not the same one!)

She knows. The minute she meets his eyes, she knows.

*

Varric does not believe in soulmates.

“I just think it’s a crock of shit,” he laughs. “Like hell am I ever gonna agree with the idea that you only get one person just for you. Besides,” he adds, spreading his hands out, “I got all of you, haven’t I?”

Merrill declares it the sweetest thing she has ever heard, whilst Isabela makes retching noises.

Hawke nudges him, smiling sadly. “You know she might not have been the one, right?” she murmurs.

“Fuck off,” he says, but not without affection. “Suppose I’d never know. I can’t even dream.”

*

_The Maker took away your heart, dear child. But you can find it again, if you are lucky. Look to your dreams, and find the windows to the soul.  
_

*

Cassandra believes – of course she does, he realises, almost a year after he has met her. She believes it with all her heart.

He feels wretched. Even if he did believe – how would he know? He does not dream, he cannot see the eyes that the humans and elves purport to find there, the eyes of their soulmates.

Dwarves were not meant to love, clearly. Bianca had taught him that.

*

_But Sister, they say love is blind. How will I find my heart then?  
_

*

She admits it, a sad note in her voice as she stares out the window.

“I see your eyes, in my dreams.”

He swallows. “I don’t believe in -”

“I know.” She smiles only slightly. “I do not tell you to trap you into anything. I simply thought you should know that I -”

“Seeker -”

“I should not have said anything. Forgive me, I -”

He grabs her wrist, pulling her in close. “Cassandra,” he breathes.

She is crying, and he pushes her onto the bed, wrapping his arms around her. “Forgive me,” she whispers, fingers tight around his tunic. “I am a fool.”

“Not really,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You just love a blind man.”

There is something about the feel of her skin. Something familiar. She feels like home.

*

In the early dawn, Varric is almost awake.

His hands flex, curling around a body his heart has not met yet, soft skin marred by battle, a warmth he longs to hold.

The sun prickles at his face, and the moment vanishes as his eyes flutter open. For a brief second, he is blinded -

*

_My dear child. Love is so much more than sight._


	107. AU meme: pretending to hate each other

The Inquisitor and Dorian share a look as they enter the small entrance room set aside for their party by the local nobles. They had been accompanied by Varric – who reputedly knew their hosts from an age-old grudge in Kirkwall – and Cassandra – who was best equipped to knock some sense into anyone who defied them – but the pair had been baiting each other ever since Skywall and the atmosphere was toxic.

“Are you two _quite_ finished fighting?”

Cassandra makes a noise in the back of her throat, hiding behind a book – not, tellingly, one of Varric’s.

The dwarf smiles genially, though there is a tired look to his eyes. “Inquisitor, a gentleman never starts a fight.”

She scoffs. “ _You_ are no gentleman –“

“Enough.” The Inquisitor massages his temples. “I need a bath.”

Dorian reaches for his lover. “And that’s our cue to leave. Behave, you two.”

Cassandra glares at Varric.

“I make no promises,” drawls the dwarf.

The door closes behind the mages, and the pair stare at each other for a long moment.

She shakes her head slightly, smiling. “You are ridiculous,” she murmurs, and the edge is gone from her voice.

“And yet you love me,” he teases, leaning forward to pull her legs into his lap. “Thanks,” he adds. “I know this isn’t ideal -”

“I would prefer not to lie to our friends,” she admits. “But if it means your life is not forfeit, I will bear it.”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t have to, though.” He looks pained, and she uncurls from her chair, dropping herself into his lap.

“Varric. Stop that thought.”

“I know.” He reaches up, thumb brushing against her cheek. “I know I said I could wait until this blew over, but… I don’t think I could have managed all of this without you.”

She smiles. “I am glad you did not wait. The thought of you fighting the Carta alone…”

He presses soft lips to the flash of skin at her neck. “Yeah, well. Best not dwell.” She sighs underneath his touch, and he grins as his hot breath turns her skin from smooth silk to shivering flesh. “I just wish this were over, so that I could take you back to my room and do unspeakable things to you.”

Her hands curl into his hair at the base of his neck, and now it is his turn to tremble. “You _say_ they are unspeakable things, and yet you persist in telling me such acts in great detail,” she points out in a low voice.

“Well, I like to give you something to look forward to.”

“Mm.” She does not sound convinced. “I think you just like to get me all worked up and then imagine me frustrated for the rest of the night.”

“I would never,” he drawls, laughing despite himself.

“Then I have to tell you,” she says, pulling back to regard him with a smirk, “you are failing to take into account who you are trying to best in this battle of wills. I do not spend my nights pining.”

“Oh?”

“I _abhor_ idle hands,” she purrs, rolling her hips against his.

“Oh. Oh, _fuck_ , that’s – you’re fucking with me, right?” At her smirk widening, he groans softly, resting his head against her shoulder. “ _Oh_.” The thought of her, writhing underneath her deft fingers, wet and hot and aching for _him_ and he only three rooms over - “Oh, fuck me.”

“Soon,” she promises, kissing his head. “Soon.”


	108. AU meme: going through a divorce

_It’s over. Can we talk?_

Five words on that scented parchment she loved to use for her personal correspondence. Varric’s stomach roils. He had dreamed of a day like this, long ago – when he had been idealistic and filled with hope. Before the world had stripped him of it all.

He swallows, looking up at the sleeping woman in his bed.

_Seeker._

It was new, this… thing, between them. Or rather, it was new to be acting upon it. He had no doubts they had been denying themselves for far longer than either would admit to. She had assented to staying in his room for the first time only three days ago, a wonderful gift. Waking up next to her had been bliss.

Which made the timing of Bianca’s letter even worse.

He sighs, dropping his gaze back to the letter.

_It’s over. Can we talk?_

*

Cassandra wakes later than usual, a side-effect of Varric’s bed that she is still getting used to. Limbs uncurling, she shivers at the coolness of the morning air.

“Did I wake you?”

Varric’s voice seems far away, and she turns her head to find him by the door, dressed to travel. She sits up, alert.

“You are leaving?”

He nods, an uneasy look on his face. “Something came up. I should be back in a week or two.” Before she can respond, he shakes his head. “It’s… it’s Bianca.”

“Oh.” She tugs at the sheet, suddenly feeling exposed. “I see.”

“I’m coming back.”

“I do not doubt that.”

He offers a weak smile. “Keep my bed warm?”

She swallows. “Varric -”

“I’m sorry. I am. You trust that, at least?”

She has no answer for that.

*

Varric comes back late on the ninth day.

His room is mostly as he left it – with the exception of one notable absence – and he dumps his pack by the door, taking a deep breath before he tends to his belongings. Boots cleaned, papers in order and fire roaring, it is only after he has run out of things to do that he admits to himself that he is putting it off.

He owes her better.

Scribbling a quick note, he sends his crow out to find her, wondering if she would come. He takes to his armoire, finding something to drink.

The knock at his door is soft.

“Come in!”

She says nothing as she enters, raising her arm so that the crow flaps back to its cage.

“Hey.” He offers a smile, warm and welcoming. He had missed her presence. She looked no different – but then, he supposes, it had only been a week… and _she_ had not upended her life.

“You are back.” Her voice is calm, but her posture is tight.

He offers her a seat on the bed, sitting next to her and passing her a glass. “Drink?”

“Thank you.” Her hands cup around the glass delicately. “Did you… have a safe trip?”

“Safe enough.” His smile twists slightly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

A flash of worry crosses her face for a brief moment, but she reins it in.

He swallows. “Everything alright here? No major crises?”

“We survived.”

He lets the silence linger for a moment before clearing his throat. “I, ah… I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, Varric.” She lets her eyes drop to her drink. “You have never been dishonest about your feelings regarding Bianca.”

“That’s… not _exactly_ true.”

She lets out a huff of a laugh. “Varric -”

“Bianca’s always been a huge part of my life, and I will always love her, in a way. But not in the way everyone assumes.” He shrugs slightly. “I never thought we would ever get back together, not after she married him. I’m not an idiot. It was never gonna be me, and I came to terms with that a long time ago.”

He lets out a long breath. “Bianca wrote to me. Her husband left her.”

Cassandra’s face tightens.

“She wanted someone to talk to. Someone who would understand what it felt like to be left behind. Who better?”

“You are -”

“I didn’t go because she asked,” he interrupts. “I went because I needed both of us to know what we were. That neither of us were reaching for an idea long dead. We’re not who we were, and as much as I wanted it once… it’s not who I am anymore.”

She reaches for his hand, eyes softening. “I am sorry,” she murmurs. “It must have been hard to have that discussion.”

“It wasn’t fun,” he agrees. “But I owed it to myself more than anything.” He smiles slightly. “I guess it was like another divorce for her. Losing two men in the space of a week…”

“She will endure.” Cassandra smiles slightly. “From what I recall, she is a strong-willed woman.”

“Yeah. She’ll be alright.”

She squeezes his fingers gently, the silence companionable.

“It seems like the sort of time to make a grand gesture,” he admits with a soft laugh. “That’s how I’d write it, anyway. A declaration of love, an unlikely proposal… something over the top and corny. But I’m not gonna do any of that. I’ve learned my lesson about impossible promises.”

“Of course,” she says softly.

“But I _do_ want to see where this goes, with us. If you still want to, I mean.”

She smiles, bright and clear. “I would like that.”

He shuffles closer, taking her drink from her and putting it aside. “Yeah?”

She takes the hint, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Very much so.”

“I, ah… I missed you. Whilst I was away.” He leans up, brushing his lips against her jaw. “And I’m sorry for leaving like that.”

“I will eventually forgive you,” she murmurs, a soft kiss pressed to the scar across his nose. “I am sure you will make it up to me.”

He laughs, breath warm against her cheek. “Give me time,” he whispers, “and I’ll do a lot more.”

“I might hold you to that.”

“I’m counting on it.”


	109. AU meme: prostitute/client

Kirkwall is a sprawling metropolis filled with missed connections and silences between the crowds. Cassandra is lonely.

She misses Orlais, and she _hates_ that feeling.

Still, the Hanged Man is bustling, and a stone’s throw from her apartment. She manages to find a small table by the door, ordering herself a drink before pulling out one of her favourite books.

“Waiting for someone?”

The man at her elbow smiles, a warm expression that puts her oddly at ease.

She smiles slightly. “No. I have nobody to wait for.”

“Ah, come on. Everyone’s got _someone_ to wait for.”

“I am new to the city. I have… not made many friends.”

“Huh.” He leans against the table. “Well, maybe you were just waiting for me.”

She laughs softly. “That is a terrible line.”

“Yeah, it’s not my finest work.” He holds out a hand. “Varric.”

“Cassandra.” She shakes it firmly. “What about you? Are you waiting for someone?”

He shrugs. “In a way. But the atmosphere here is what I’m really about.”

She leans on her hand, considering him. He was handsome, in a way – not the sort of person she would notice, in truth. But he had kind eyes and a smile that suggested good humour, and that appealed to her.

“Mind if I hang around for a bit?” he asks.

She smiles. “Sure.”

“Great.” He smiles. “Drinks on me.”

*

Three drinks later, Cassandra is convinced her luck is finally turning around.

“… and that’s when the investors turned up,” laughs Varric, and she giggles into her glass.

“You have led quite a charmed life, it seems.”

“I’ve had my moments.” He grins, leaning forward. “So what do you do?”

“I, ah – I am a Seeker, for the Chantry.” At his surprised look, she almost dares him to say it. “What?”

“Nothing. I just… you’re kind of _hot_ , for a Chantry girl.”

She laughs at that. “Thank you, I think?” She runs a light finger around the rim of her glass. “What about you?”

His smile freezes. “I’m… I’m an escort.”

She frowns slightly. “An escort? Like a personal assistant?”

“No, like a male escort.”

She blinks. “Like -”

“Like people pay for my company,” he clarifies, relaxing back in his chair.

She stares at him. “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s it?”

“I… I do not…” Something shifts in her stomach, and she sobers. “Wait, are you – are you trying to _solicit_ me?”

“Do you want me to?”

She balks, pushing back from the table. “Wha-what? No! No, I – I – I have to go!” She stumbles over herself, fleeing his sight.

An _escort!_ Did she look so lonely?

*

She returns a week later, slinking into the bar and staying in the shadows.

Varric finds her anyway, a gentle smile on his face as he slides into the seat next to her. “Hey, Seeker.”

“W-what are you -”

“You okay? You look a little down.”

She ducks her head. “I do not need your pity – I do not need a _prostitute_ -”

“Escort,” he corrects, with the practised ease of someone who has had to correct such a word many times. “Look, do you know what I do, most of the time?” At her nonplussed look, he presses on. “I sit around and _listen_. You see, most people don’t want sex. You can get that at any bar in town, from a hundred guys or girls. No, they want someone to pay attention. Someone who can listen and help by bouncing their problems around.”

She stares into her glass. “People pay you to listen,” she says slowly.

“It’s an unforgiving city.”

“That, I do understand.” She mulls it over in her mind, not convinced.

“At the very least, I could make it easier for you to make friends – introduce you around a bit –“

“But they might assume that I am like _you_ –“ She catches herself too late, offering an apologetic look. “Forgive me. It is… hard, for me to understand all this without prejudice.”

He nods. “Think about it.” He pulls out a card, scribbling something on the back. “My private line. Call me, any time, if you change your mind.” He slides it over to her, catching her fingers as she reaches for it and pulling them to his lips. “Life’s hard enough. You don’t have to go it alone.”

She pulls a face. “And I suppose you don’t have to go through it _poor_.”

He grins. “It’s a living. Next drink’s on me. Have a good one, Seeker.”

*

The coffee shop is quiet, but not so quiet that their conversation can be heard.

“How does this work?”

“How do you want it to work?”

“Varric -”

He smiles kindly. “I’m serious. We do this in a way that makes _you_ feel comfortable.”

“How do… others arrange this?”

“Well, it varies from client to client. Some people want to meet up every day, but that’s rarely practical. Others just want to touch base once a month. I know a very lovely woman who meets me only when her moonblood is due. But most people settle for once a fortnight, or once a week.”

She thinks. “Would once a week be acceptable?”

He nods, pulling out a small black diary. “Sure. I’m assuming you want something that works around you – so, say, something like a standing dinner date every Friday?”

“You are free every Friday?”

“I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t.”

She nods. “Then that would be… good.”

“Alright.” He makes a note, before putting it away again. “Now. Ground rules.” He pulls his glasses off, looking up at her. “This goes as far as you want it to go, but we both have to agree before proceeding. You want to change the terms of our meetings, you tell me in advance. You need to cancel a meeting, I don’t charge you unless it’s an hour beforehand, then there’s a cancellation fee. You pay upfront, until I have assurance that you are good for it long-term, then we can talk about setting up a plan. I take cash or digital payments, no cheques or credit. We treat each other with respect, and this will be a beautiful time for everyone. That alright?”

She blinks, before smiling. “This is a serious business for you.”

He smiles tightly. “Yes.”

“Sorry. I am just trying to understand. The terms are fine.”

“Good. I’ll need to take a little information about you – nothing damning, I just need to know you’re not going to kill me and throw me out back.” He smiles.

*

It is awkward, at first – she supposes it always is. But he makes her feel comfortable, and by the end of their first dinner she feels good.

She finds herself smiling more and more with each encounter.

She tells him about her life – her job, thankless; her family, gone; her hopes, few. In return, he tells her about the city, about his own worries, his more entertaining encounters. She warms to him with each passing week.

And then he takes a call, and she remembers who he is – what he does, what she pays him to do. It tugs at her heart, stomach dropping. She _likes_ him, is growing to like him more and more… but it is an impossibility. She was a client, nothing more.

She hesitates outside the restaurant. Through the window, she can see him, making small talk with the waitress. _It is so easy for you,_ she thinks. _It is so impossibly easy_.

The walk back to her apartment is cold.

*

He calls her the next day.

“You missed our date. Everything okay?”

She closes her eyes, the phone heavy in her hand.

“Varric, I – I do not think we should make any definitive plans for the time being.”

The silence draws out. She rests her head against the door-frame.

“How about a drink?” he offers finally.

She should say no. She should hang up.

“Sure.”

*

He is waiting for her, drinks in hand. He looks so concerned. So genuine. She avoids his eyes.

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

She curls around her drink, shaking her head. “Please, Varric, can we not -”

He sits back in his chair, frowning. “Is it my job? Did someone say something to you about how inappropriate it is? Because look, critics will always -”

“You are… very good at your job. Making people feel… special.” She takes a deep breath. “But it is not real, not really. I am beginning to forget that.”

He stills, and the silence is worse than the concern. And then he pulls his phone from his pocket, scribbling numbers on his napkin.

“Come with me,” he says finally.

“Where?”

“Just outside for a minute. Trust me.”

*

The night air is cold, and she shivers as he punches numbers into the ATM machine. “Varric, what are we doing out here? They take card.”

“Just give me a sec – got it.” He turns, a wad of cash in his hand. “Take this.”

She blinks. “What?”

“This is everything you’ve paid me up until today. Take it, and then shut up and listen to me.”

Her hand closes around the money, frowning. “Why?”

He steps in close, smiling up at her. “Now I’m off the clock,” he murmurs, grabbing her shirt and pulling her down into a kiss.

She freezes, and his fingers loosen, but then she makes a noise – the softest noise in the back of her throat – and her mouth opens to his, hands bunching around his jacket. He pushes her against the wall, body pressed up against hers as he arches up, savouring her wonderfully pliant lips. Her tongue flashes against his bottom lip, eliciting a soft groan.

She pulls back, a sharp inhale as he drops back onto his heels, smirking up at her.

“Hi. I’m Varric, nice to meet you.”

“Varric -”

“I _like_ you,” he murmurs, “and if you don’t want to be a client anymore… well, I’ve got an opening in my life for a girlfriend. It’s been vacant for a long time, but I think you’d like the perks. No contracts, no rules… just you and me and wherever this goes.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “I… like the sound of that.”

He grins. “Yeah? Good.” He straightens, smoothing out his jacket. “Now, seeing as you have all the money, you can buy me a drink.”

She blinks, before remembering. “Oh! No, take it back. I took your time, you cannot –“

“Seeker, keep it. Seriously.”

She grabs his hand, closing his fingers around the money. “This is starting on even footing,” she assures him. “Clean slates.”

He hesitates, before nodding “Alright. Drinks on me, then.” And he offers his arm. “Shall we?”


	110. Nonsexual intimacy: one of them crying

Cassandra has seen many things she never expected. But Varric’s reaction to Adamant…

She finds him sat by the bonfire, in the shadows of the keep. Varric is silent and shaking, and everyone is looking the other way – that misguided sense of propriety, as if pointedly not seeing him break might be in any way _helpful_.

She reaches for his hand, inclining with her head for him to follow, and he does.

They slip into the tent, and she half-expects a quip – one of those ridiculous lines about how improper it was and his poor dwarven sensibilities… but he simply sits on his bedroll, eyes glued to the floor. Closing the tent up tight, she pulls off her armour and lays it down carefully, adjusting her gambeson slightly before sitting next to him. One arm wrapping around his waist, she pulls him into her side, head resting on his.

She can feel him swallow. “Seeker -”

“It hurts,” she murmurs softly, “more than losing your brother, more than the tragedies of Kirkwall… it hurts like nothing you have ever known.”

His hand comes up, bunching in the fabric at her chest.

“I know you Marchers are more likely to… ignore your hurts, to walk it off, or to drink until it cannot be felt, but… this is a grief you _need_ to let out. Hawke would not want you to bottle this up.”

“You don’t _know_ what -” His throat catches, and her hand squeezes his shoulder.

“I have learned a lot about Hawke from your books and stories. I know of her nobility, of her pride in her friends, of her compassion for her fellow man.”

The shaking starts again, and her free arm comes around, letting him bury his face against her, sharp shallow breaths.

“I know Hawke was the kind of person who understood how grief eats away at you. She suffered so much, and she bore it all with a grace I envy. I was not so noble, not even today. But she knew better than most that hiding from loss only makes it hurt all the more.”

“She’s not – she wasn’t -”

“Let it out,” she whispers, “I cannot watch you push this down. Do not become like I was, Varric. Do not let grief _shape_ you. Hawke would not want that.”

He cries, bitter and quiet sobs, and she holds him until sleep takes him – and for a brief moment, as she lays him on the bedroll and brushes his hair from his eyes, she envies him the peaceful slumber.

There would be no stories for him to endure tonight. She only wished her own sleep was as silent.


	111. AU meme: knocking on the wrong door

_Knock knock._

Cassandra opens the door to a large talking box.

“Before you say anything,” it says, “I have a lot to get off my chest.”

She blinks, before craning her head over the box to find a head of luxurious hair - Varric, of all people, with a box full of sentiment and memories by the looks of it.

But how had he _found_ her? They had become tentative friends and then perhaps closer still, but only ever on neutral ground.

“Now,” he continues before she can ask him, “we never really _said_ it was over, and it’s been years, and because of that I've… held on, I suppose, to whatever I could. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve sort of - well, I’ve sort of found someone else, someone who isn’t married, someone who I might even _love_ if I could give her my heart. And I want to, but if I’m holding onto you then what hope does Cassandra have? I’ve spent my life making shit choices and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

The box drops to the floor, and Varric’s eyes remain on it as he keeps going.

“It’s important, I think, that I tell you this face to face, but I -”

He looks up. And up. And up.

“You’re not Bianca.”

Cassandra smiles, leaning against the doorframe. “No.”

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

He swallows. “Uhm.”

“Did you mean all that?” she asks.

“Uh.” He looks sheepish. “Yeah, I… guess I did. Didn’t exactly mean it as a pick-up line, though.”

“As pick-up lines go, it is… quite sweet.”

He smiles slightly. “Yeah?”

She nods, feeling her cheeks redden. “Though I feel sorry for Bianca. To be losing you must be quite the blow.”

He shrugs. “Not really. She’s -”

“I mean - I mean you are someone _I_ would not wish to lose.”

“Oh.” He brightens at that, smile easier. “Well, then.”

“Quite.”

He considers the box for a moment. “I should probably… go deal with this.”

“Yes.”

“But after… do you want to grab a drink or something?”

She bites her lip for a brief moment, and smiles at the look on his face. “I have a bottle of wine, if you can remember the way back.”

“ _Har har_.”

“Well, _clearly_ your sense of direction needs some work -”

“I’ll be back,” he says, before hauling the box back up in his arms.

“I look forward to it.”

He shifts slightly, and she catches the glimpse of a smile before he heads off down the hallway -

“Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“The elevator is the _other_ way.”


	112. unprompted - i see the heart of you

The smoke clears. Two bodies.

Amid the debris and mud, Cassandra stares up at the clearing sky. She will not live to see the sun set, she knows that much. The wound in her abdomen is deep and wide, and the mud is slick with her blood. It hurts - she knows that much.

Varric is close and far away - just out of reach, and getting further away as time passes.

“Ca-”

A cough, wet and angry.

“Cassa-”

Another, longer this time. He is slipping away, and he is calling for her.

Her own throat is hoarse and cracked from the heat of battle, and she can only manage a weak whine in response. But it encourages him, hand slapping against the mud as he reaches in her direction.

“S’alrigh’,” he gasps, “here. M’here.”

She reaches out to meet him, cursing the pitiful distance. Her arm strains, the twist of her core muscles more painful than she had ever thought possible, and she whines again, the noise catching in her throat.

“Hey. _Hey_. S’al-”

He coughs again, the noise louder, and he rolls with the movement -

She strains her neck to look at him, horrified at the gaping hole ripped through his chest. She could see his heart. She could see his _heart_.

His hand rests against the ground, his chest wheezing, his lungs fluttering with a slick sheen.

“S’alrigh’,” he repeats, no more than a whisper. “C’ssandra. I lo- I love -”

Her body cries out as she pushes further, fingers just managing to brush against his. But it is too late. Too late. Varric’s eyes are dull, his chest still. Between the gaps of his ribcage, she can see his heart stop.

She wants to scream, wants to cry out and bring him back just for a moment, just long enough to say the right words - words they had struggled to come to, words that had been hard-fought for. But her body gives up, and only the tears escape her as the darkness claims her.

* * *

“No!”

Cassandra sits up in bed with a cry, reaching out into the air.

“Hey, hey,” a rough voice entreats, the warmth of a body close at hand. “It’s alright, Seeker.”

She swallows, turning her head to stare as Varric sits up. His eyes full of concern, bright and alive despite being roused from sleep. Her gaze drops to his chest, covered by the silk nightshirt.

“Cassandra?”

She reaches out hesitantly, placing her hand against his heart. No ribs bared, no lungs exposed. His heart, strong and steady under her touch. She is in bed, in Varric’s bed in the Keep, and they are not dying today.

She is safe, she knows that much.

“Dream,” she says quietly. “Awful, awful dream.”

His hand rests over hers, fingers curling gently around her own. “I’ve never seen you so scared. You were crying,” he murmurs. “Like you couldn’t speak.”

“Mm.”

“But it’s just a dream. You’re here, with me. It’s alright now, yeah?”

She nods slowly, but the swell of pain in her heart is not so easily sated - the truth was that they still could suffer such a fate, with Corypheus still at large. The memory of his heart stopping in his chest, words unsaid, is too much for her to bear, and she rests her head in the crook of his neck as she cries.

“I love you. Varric, I love you.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m here. I love you.”

His arms wrap around her, pulling her into his lap as he murmurs gently, soft assurances and endearments as he gently rocks her.

His fingers are gentle around hers, hands held over his heart.


	113. otp prompt: tackle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A and Person B don’t know each other (yet). One day, Person A tackles B in public, mistaking them for their best friend. Shenanigans ensue.

It’s not _his_ fault all humans look the same, Varric tells himself later. It’s not _his_ fault that Hawke’s hair is short, black and spiky at the back, just like the poor woman who is now sprawled on the floor in a rather undignified fashion.

It _is_ his fault that he tackled her, though.

_At least I didn’t spank her_ , comes the unbidden thought, and he swallows as her ass shifts with the movement of hauling herself into a sitting position. _Or perhaps that’s my loss._

“Are you alright?” he asks, noticing the wince.

“I will survive.” _Oh no. An accent._ He had tackled a hot Nevarran. If the rumours were to be believed, he was as good as dead - or undead. But she simply rubs her side and sighs.

“Okay, first of all, I am really, _really_ sorry. But this is entirely my friend’s fault, and I promise you I will exact revenge on her for this.”

She blinks, the faintest smile gracing her lips.

_Shit. Don’t smile back. Don’t encourage that smile. You’d do dangerously reckless things for a smile like that._

“Oh? A knight demanding justice, are you?”

_Don’t even look, Tethras._

The corners of his mouth tug traitorously into his easy smirk.

“Maybe. Would you like me to be?”

_Maker’s ass, Tethras, you had ONE JOB._

She laughs, and he is doomed at the sound of it.

“I am afraid, good ser, I am hardly the damsel type. But an explanation would be appreciated, if you are so inclined.”

“Oh, right, of course.” A beat. “Over dinner?”

_TETHRAS._

She considers this for a moment, and he hesitates for a split-second.

“It’s the least I can do.”

_One job. One! What is wrong with you? She’s going to say no, and you’ll spend the evening halfway down that bottle of cheap Ostwick whiskey. She’s miles out of your lea-_

“Alright.”

_Andraste take me, did she just say yes?_

“But on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“No more tackling?” She laughs suddenly, sharply, and his chest tightens. “Unless I ask.”

It’s not _his_ fault that humans are all tall and spiky and attractive, he thinks, scrambling to his feet and offering her a hand to hers. It’s _definitely_ Hawke’s fault that this happened, he thinks as she punches her number into his phone.

She smiles again, blowing him a kiss as she leaves, and Varric swallows.

He’d have to get Hawke a bottle of _very_ good whiskey for this.


	114. unprompted - haunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A WIP I have had in my folder for a while, polished up.

He has a ring.

Varric keeps holding it tightly in his palm, the metal cool against his skin, just to remind himself that he was seriously going through with this plan. That he was truly, really going to ask Cassandra Pentaghast to marry him.

For real. In front of their loved ones. In a real Chantry. No joke.

_Maker_.

He has a ring, but little else by way of a plan. He knows it has to be romantic as shit, because it’s the _Seeker_ and she deserves nothing less. He was not yet sure about the backdrop. After all, most of their firsts had been in Ferelden, in that lonely fort in the mountains. Their first kiss, their first passionate embrace, their first tears had all been in Skyhold. But, he thinks, there had been one important first right here in Kirkwall…

He smiles, scribbling a note for her and leaving it with his seneschal, before heading into the city.

*

The Hawke estate has been left idle in the absence of its master, and Varric can barely see through the gloom for all the dust he has kicked up simply by opening the door. A pang of regret starts in his chest and does not abate.

_Hawke_.

His friend’s ghost lingers here. He cannot feel the Fade in his sleep, but he is sure she would be haunting the darker corners of Kirkwall - the places they used to rule, the places he now avoids. Places like this, shrouded in memory and darkness.

He should not have come, he realises. It did not matter that he had other memories here, that his love had dragged him and interrogated him here, that their story had begun in this very room… this had been a home of sorts for him, with his strange little family. This had been the last bastion of sanity in a terrifying city.

This had been where Leandra had made him promise to keep an eye on her child.

“Shit,” he breathes, the first tears falling. “I’m so sorry.”

*

Varric does not know how long he sits there, in the dust. But she comes, as she always would.

“Varric?”

“Sorry.” The apology is automatic, and he is not quite sure what for, but he feels it all the same.

She kneels beside him, hands light on his. “My love,” she murmurs, “why do you linger here?”

He wants to explain, wants to show her the ring, to cast off the shadows and bring light back into this place - but he does not have the strength. Instead, a weak noise escapes him, and she pulls him into a tight embrace, his hands clinging to her with a strange desperation.

He was a fool to think this would be easy, he realises, and he will never be rid of this sorrow.

“Come,” she whispers, “come away. Let us go home.”

The ring stays in his pocket. He does not look back as they leave.

*

Cassandra does not ask, because Cassandra knows how it feels to be haunted. Still, she worries as he retires for the night. She slips into their room as he washes up, picking up his clothes from the chair. Why had he gone to Hawke’s home? The note he had left for her with Bran had been vague at best.

_Thump_.

A soft pouch falls against her leg, and she stoops to pick it up. Frowning, she runs her thumb over it. A memento, perhaps? She should not snoop, and yet… Tugging it open, she pulls out a delicate ring of silver, marvelling at the pattern.

“Cassandra?”

She almost drops it, cheeks burning at being caught. “I am sorry, I -”

He pads over from the washroom, kneeling next to her as his hands close around the ring. “S’alright,” he smiles, and her heart lightens at the expression. “What’s mine is yours, Seeker. This more than anything.”

She swallows, realising what he means. “Oh. Oh, _Varric_.”

“You’ve got my heart, Seeker. You always will.” He presents the ring to her, smiling softly. “Marry me.”

She smiles, watching as his own lips twist into a bright thing. “Yes.”

“Yeah?”

Her hand closes over his, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “My love, I would be _honoured_.”


	115. unprompted - in the fires (i will find you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another WIP finished up as far as it'll go.

Cassandra is seventy miles from Kirkwall when she sees the smoke, twenty miles when the air gets thick. Ten miles out, she can see the fires.

She curses every step.

The city is eerily quiet as she runs, feet thudding against the stone through Lowtown - or what was left of it. The red smears on the floor chill her, but she has no time to pray for the lost, not when she still needs to find _him_ -

She finds Merrill in the Alienage, on her knees and crying. Many of her people jumped ship to join the Qun when the fires began, and almost as many died. She feels so alone, sat in the courtyard and mourning her people’s tree.

Cassandra moves on.

Isabela emerges from the ruins of a warehouse, a hunted look in her eyes. They had waited for her to return, they had waited until her ship was in port, and then they had assaulted the city. She knows this lies on her, and she will not linger again to endanger more lives.

Cassandra moves on.

Fenris stands on the steps to Hightown, sword at his back. Everything smells of smoke and blood - it almost feels like the Imperium. He hates it. There would be hard days to come for the city, but he could not help them. He was not a healer, he was not built for peace. But avenge them… he could do that.

Cassandra moves on.

Anders lingers in Darktown. He came back to help where he had failed them before, but the city had fallen once more. Justice _screams_. Anders is tired of picking up the pieces, but… he kneels by the sick and starts his work. It is all he knows how to do.

Cassandra moves on.

At the entrance to the Keep, Aveline stands guard, barking orders to messengers and guardsmen alike. The city had fallen - nobody could deny that. But whilst one person remained standing, she would send her men to aid them. She had watched Lothering burn. She had watched Kirkwall under siege. She had almost lost her husband - again. Her mind spares Donnic a brief thought, lying on a medic’s cot deeper in the city.

And then she spots the Seeker, and suddenly she falls silent.

“Aveline.”

Cassandra does not miss the way the woman’s face tightens, does not miss the look in her eyes. _No. Please, no._

“Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Where is he?” _Please, Maker. Be kind. Just this once, be kind._

Aveline takes a deep breath. “There is a medical station set up three blocks over. Bran will get you through.”

She runs, past the injured and infirm, past the ashes, past the bones, until she spots the seneschal.

“Bran!”

The man looks up, pale and exhausted, and she can see the toll of the city bearing down on him.

“Lady Cassandra, you _came,”_ he breathes. “Thank the Maker. He’s - he’s in that tent. They say he won’t last -”

“He will last,” she promises, slipping into the tent to find - _oh._

Varric is still, the too-still sleep of a man close to death, and for a wild terrifying moment she thinks she is too late. But the healer at his side beckons her forward, and his skin is still warm to the touch. She clutches at his hand, bringing it to her lips.

“Oh, my love, my love,” she whispers, and now the tears come in earnest, now she lets her emotions loose. “Varric, I should have been here. I should have been with you.”

He says nothing. The silence is unbearable.

“My lady?”

She looks up at the nurse. “Am I in the way?”

“N-no, my lady, only… do you need anything? You’ve been here all day.”

She blinks. “Oh. I - I did not realise.”

“It’s sweet. But… sad.” The nurse sets down a small plate of food - barely anything, in truth, but Cassandra is honoured anyway. “He’s been this way since the building came down. He saved the seneschal’s life. Healer Clarins says it’d take a miracle, or whatever the dwarven equivalent is.”

“He… he has led a charmed life,” she murmurs. “If anyone could…” Cassandra trails off, fingers tightening around his hand again, and the nurse offers a quick curtsey before leaving again.

“Varric,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss his brow, “you cannot let your luck run out. I am - I am not ready for a world without you. I cannot bear such a world. Please.”

She does not remember sleep claiming her, but it does.

*

The dawn is slow, and awareness creeps into Cassandra like a parasite. She blinks the sleep from her eyes and looks up to find one bleary eye peering at her.

“Seek'r.”

Her heart bursts.

“Varric,” she breathes, reaching up to cup his cheek, and his fingers clumsily wrap around her wrist. “My love - oh, my love.”

“Sorry t’ worry you,” he slurs, and she smiles, the tears coming again.

“You can make it up to me by getting better,” she assures him, crawling onto the cot and tucking herself into his side. “You stupid, brave, foolish dwarf.”

He chuckles, though it is short-lived and painful. “Brave. Shit. R'mind me not t’ be.”

“Hush, my love. Rest.”

“Mm.”

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you so very much. Do not ever do this to me again.”

“Mm.” He manages a smile, weak and weary, and she frets at the exhaustion clear on his face. “Do my best.”

“Rest. Rest, and recover. I will not stray from your side, you are safe with me.”

“Love you,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he squeezes her arm briefly before letting her go.

“And I you,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against his temple, unmindful of the tears that flowed freely. “So very, _very_ much.”

She would not leave him, she knows that already - not until he walked away from Kirkwall on his own feet would she be parted from his side. Never again.


	116. otp prompt: packed bags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine person A of your OTP has had a lot of work these past few weeks for whatever reason. They can spend little time with person B around their extra work hours, and can tell this is taking its toll on their lover, which of course causes more stress for A.  
> One night, A returns just after midnight, exhausted, to find to their horror that all the bags are packed and B is asleep on the couch. Devastated that it seems B has finally had enough, A curls up on the sofa with them in order to share one last night together.  
> Come morning, however, B is surprised and confused that A is so upset. Turns out that they had no intention of leaving A at all: they ‘bullied’ A’s boss into giving them some time off and arranged a romantic getaway for the two of them - then just couldn’t be bothered to go back upstairs to bed after packing/fell asleep waiting for A to return.

Cassandra sighs, leaning heavily against the door. A long week - too long, in truth, but she was finally free of the project for at least a week whilst the budget was debated, and had been ordered home at gone midnight to ensure she could not start working on the next phase before she had slept.

The house is silent, and she winces as the lock clicks loudly. Slipping off her shoes, she ditches her jacket and pads through the house, mindful of the creaking floorboard at the bottom of the stairs.

In the living room, she lets out a soft noise - two suitcases stood by the coffee table, and her lover was curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

“No,” she breathes. “Oh, please, no -”

Varric had been patient with her, this much she could not deny. Her long hours, late nights and early starts had put unbearable strain on their relationship. But it seemed to her now that his patience had a limit, and it had finally been reached.

She swallows, rubbing at the tears that slipped down her cheeks. Her heart aches, but she would not stop him if he was truly ready to walk away. She owed him that much, at least. Still… one last night at his side…

She climbs over him, arms wrapping around his waist as she buries her face into his neck, trying to hold back her tears.

“I love you,” she whispers.

Varric sleeps on.

*

Varric wakes up to a warm weight at his side, and smiles as his hand skims over a familiar one.

“Hey, when did you get in?”

“Late,” she whispers hoarsely. “I am sorry.”

“S’alright.” He rolls to face her, frowning. “You look like _shit_ , sweetheart. You okay?”

“I did not sleep. I did not want to - to forget this.” She swallows, and he is alarmed by the tears forming in her eyes. “To forget how we were, when it was good.”

He cups her face in his hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I am sorry,” she whispers. “Please, believe _that_ much.”

He watches her carefully, and frowns. “What’s -”

And then her eyes betray her, flicking over his shoulder to the suitcases, and the tears fall freely as she covers her face with her hands.

“I am sorry,” she sobs, “Maker, Varric, please, I am _so_ sorry.”

“Oh, _sweetheart_ , I’m not - shit, I’m not _leaving!_ ” He pulls her into a tight hug. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think - I _love_ you, Cassandra, I’m not going _anywhere_ , it’s alright.”

She clings to him, crying into his chest, and he kisses the top of her head and murmurs softly, gentle reassurance of his love and affection and how important she was to him, until she calms down enough to speak again.

“I - I do not understand. What are the bags for?”

“I wanted to surprise you. I, ah… I spoke to your boss yesterday. Managed to talk him into letting you take an actual vacation whilst your project is being talked about by the financiers.”

She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Oh,” she says in a quiet voice.

“I wanted to tell you last night, but I - well, I fell asleep, I guess.” He pulls away, smiling apologetically at her. “I didn’t even _think_ how it might look. I never meant to scare you, sweetheart.”

She huffs, but the smile is quick to follow. “You are awful,” she says softly, “utterly _awful_.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re stuck with me.”

“And I am very glad of that fact.” Her hands curl around his shirt, forehead resting against his chest. “So _very_ glad, my love.”

He strokes her cheek tenderly. “You okay?”

“Yes.” A beat. “Tired. Very tired.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not your fault. I have been… worried, I suppose, that my long hours were too much for you to bear.”

“Never,” he promises. “I would _never_. You’re stuck with me, Cassandra.”

She smiles weakly. “So. A vacation?”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to her nose. “Yeah. A real one, with a private beach and lots of things for you to do whilst I sunbathe.”

“You are too good to me.”

“You deserve it,” he points out. “You’ve been working nonstop for so long, I think you’ve forgotten to look after yourself. And us,” he adds, “but that’s my fault too. So let’s work on that together, yeah?”

She nods, before leaning up to kiss him softly. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Always, sweetheart.” He shifts, tucking an arm around her. “We don’t have to go yet, the flight’s tonight. Want to sleep a little?”

“Mm.” She cuddles into the crook of him, letting out a long and relieved sigh, and he smiles as he presses a kiss to her head.

“I love you, sweetheart. Don’t ever doubt that.”

She hums sleepily, her arm wrapping around his waist. “Love you.”


	117. tumblr ask: babiessss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dancingdeath22 asked:
> 
> I have been very busy reading your stories and am utterly in love with them <3 So I have been thinking. Once Cassandra and Varric are settled down in Kirkwall, Cassandra seems to have fallen ill and Varric, of course is worried, so once they went to a healer, they find out Cassandra is pregnant <3 Imagine Varric's reaction

“Varric.”

Her voice is tight, tense - he’s gotten good at reading her inflections since she first haltingly admitted her attraction to him all those years ago. He knows she’s worried before she’s even finished his name, and something in his chest tightens.

His fingers wrap around hers, gentle as he tries to reassure her. He knows her, knows her fears and hopes, and knows the worry eats away at her.

“Seeker.” His lips linger as he presses kisses to her knuckles. “Listen. It’s alright. Whatever it is, it’s alright. I’m here, and I’m gonna make sure you’re looked after. We’ll find the best healers, the very best -”

“The best midwives?” she asks, voice trembling.

“Whatever you need. I’ll even talk to -”

And then it hits him, knocking all thought from his head. Her fingers tighten around his as he takes a deep breath. “Midwives?”

She smiles, cupping his face in her hands. “My love,” she whispers. “Oh, my love.”

“You’re - you’re -”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to - a real one? A _real_ whole one?”

She laughs, pressing soft kisses across his cheeks. “They hardly come in _parts_ , Varric.”

“Yeah, but - I mean, I never thought -” He swallows. “Cassandra, I - we’re going to -”

“Yes,” she says, laughing. “ _Yes_ , my love. We are going to have a child.”

He laughs, pulling her close and kissing her, heart overflowing with love for this amazing woman and the new life they were holding in their hands.


	118. otp prompt: afterglow [nsfw]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your OTP mutually agreeing to be friends with benefits and nothing more. One night, right after orgasm, Person B mutters “I love you” into Person A’s ear.

Cassandra cannot quite remember how the arrangement with Varric came to pass, but on days like today she is glad that it did.

“Can you believe the _nerve_ of that guy,” mutters Varric under his breath as an Orlesian is hauled off by the guards after some less than savoury comments about the company the Inquisitor keeps.

“Abhorrent,” she agrees quietly.

“My quarters tonight?”

“Mm. Do you have wine?”

“No, Sparkler drank me dry.”

“I can bring a bottle.”

He smirks, turning away. “I like your manners, Seeker. Later.”

She allows herself a small smile as she moves towards Leliana’s tower.

She had maintained affectionless dalliances before. This was no different, in truth - they fought together, they camped together, and if they timed it right they came together. It was not love. It was not even romance. But it was good, and it tempered them both, an outlet for the stress and a balm against the worst of the sorrow.

And she had to admit, Varric’s tongue was gifted in more ways than one.

* * *

She rides him, one hand in her hair and the other at her breast as she cries out, and he thrusts up against her with every motion, fingers tight around her hips.

“Come on, Seeker,” he rasps, “come on.”

“Varric - fuck, _Varric!_ ”

“That’s it, come on -”

She screams, her release a fiery roar through her core, before her body falls forward, hands braced either side of his head. Varric’s pace quickens, chasing his own release, and she ducks her head to his ear, lips dragging over the lobe as he moans.

“Seeker -”

“You are so _good_ , Varric,” she whispers, the words tumbling from her lips without restraint. “You feel so good inside me, I love it, I love _you_ -”

With a strangled cry he jerks his hips, his hot seed unleashing within her before his body falls limp. Satisfied, she rolls off him, the cool air prickling at her skin as they catch their breath.

“You what?”

“Hm?”

“Seeker, you said -”

And then the reality of her admission hits her, and she bolts upright.

“I said nothing!” she exclaims, the sheet clutched to her chest. “Nothing at all!”

“Seeker -”

“Again,” she says quickly, pulling away. “On the desk, perhaps, you said you wanted to -”

“ _Cassandra_.”

She stops at her name, her name on his lips. It is enough to set her heart racing - or was that fear?

“You said you wanted this to be casual. _You_ said you didn’t want feelings to get in the way.” He leans back on his hands, his gaze piercing. “ _You_ wanted no strings.”

Something bubbles in her chest, and she pushes away at it, angry now.

“Well, I did not exactly plan for this, dwarf!”

“Hey, I’m just saying -”

“It is entirely _your_ fault,” she adds, sliding off the bed and reaching for her shirt. “You just _had_ to be charming. You and your ridiculous _face_ and your kindness and your arms and your stupid compassion and your - your _smile_ and your -”

The feeling in her chest tightens, and she brushes angrily at the tears in her eyes. “Maker take you, you _knew_ this would happen! How could I _not_ fall for you?”

“Alright, disregarding that astoundingly bad logic for a moment… come back here.” He crawls to the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab her arm and pull her closer. “Come here, Cassandra. You’re crying.”

“I am not crying.” But she lets him pull her down to sit in her lap, curling into his warmth.

“Yes, you are. Stop being so stubborn for a minute and let me comfort you.”

“I do not need -”

“I don’t want to see the woman I love cry, alright?”

“I am _not_ crying -”

She stops, swallowing as she pulls back to meet his soft smile with a look of confusion.

“ _What_ did you say?”

He grins. “You heard.”

“Do not just… say it. I do not need platitudes.”

“I’m not.” His hand is warm as it brushes over her cheek, cupping her face. “Cassandra, you wanted this to be as uncomplicated as possible, so I sat on my feelings and kept quiet, because fucking you was much better than fighting you, and despite it all we got a little closer. But I _love_ you, and… and now I know that you love me, ridiculous face and all.”

Her mouth twitches, the weakest of smiles. “Shut up.”

“And that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time, honestly. And seeing as we both love each other, that’s really _not_ complicated at all, so… are we good?”

She shuffles in his lap, rearranging herself so that her legs straddle him, facing him properly. “We are,” she murmurs, hands sliding over his shoulders. “We are good.”

He tilts his head back slightly, smile softening. “Does that mean I can kiss you? Really kiss you, I mean.”

“If you do not, I cannot be held responsible for strangling you in your sleep,” she drawls, but her own smile is bright as he laughs, pulling her forward into the sweetest kiss.


	119. I wish meme: happy story [nsfw]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> janiemcpants asked:
> 
> I wish you would write a fic where Varric and Cassandra have a nice time and no one dies. (And then maybe an AU where someone does.)

Varric hates horses.

Shifting in the saddle, he glances back to the woman following him. She offers a bright smile, before leaning forward to brush her horse’s neck, murmuring soft encouragement. He glares at his own steed, mentally cursing its height and rocking gait. He hates riding.

But for her, he will endure. After all, she is worth a little discomfort.

At the top of the hill, he pulls up short, dismounting with little ease before grabbing the pack from the saddle and tying up the beast before offering Cassandra his arm. She laughs, endeared, before letting him lead her through the young trees to the clearing at the cliff.

“What is all this for?” she asks finally.

“Am I not allowed to be romantic?” he replies with a grin, slipping the pack from his shoulders and rummaging for the candles. “I thought it would be nice to spend some time away from my office for a change. We always end up there, when you visit.”

“Well, you _are_ always working.”

“Not today.” He spreads the blanket with a flourish.

“A picnic?” she asks, and he can hear the smile in her voice as he finds the box of pastries.

“Why not?”

“Why not, indeed.” She kneels at the edge of the blanket, and he shoves the candles into the ground before lighting them. “You never cease to surprise me.”

He sits back with a huff, before smiling at her. “That’s the plan,” he says in a low voice, and she laughs as she lies down, head resting in his lap. His fingers are drawn to the soft tendrils of black. “You cut it again.”

“It is a bother if it grows too much,” she grumbles.

“Not a complaint, Seeker, just an observation.”

He was damned lucky - he knew that, realised it every time he got a letter from her or was blessed enough to have her visit. But as she closes her eyes, utterly at peace in his presence, Varric truly feels it. Theirs had been a rocky start, and for a man who often felt like the world took more than it gave, to be given a chance with this powerhouse of a woman was incredible. To be loved in return… that was a miracle.

Reaching over to the hamper, he pulls out a small bundle, and she opens her eyes at the smell. The cake is sweet and honeyed, and Varric nudges for her to sit up. He offers her the cake, and she takes a bite from between his fingers, licking her lips and making an appreciative noise.

“Daisy made it. I told her you liked sweet things.”

They stay like that for hours, her head in his lap and him feeding her cake as he reads aloud the latest chapter of her favourite book. She had already devoured it, of course, but she did so love to hear him tell the tale.

As the sun burns above the horizon, the words fade away and she sits up, hand in his as the world below them bustles.

“The city is alive.”

“Yeah, they’re ah… probably looking for me.”

She turns her head, eyes wide. “Did you not tell them?”

“Not in so many words. Actually, not in _any_ words.”

“Varric!” But she is laughing as she shoves his arm.

“What? Where I run off to with my incredibly hot lover is my business and mine alone!”

She arches an eyebrow. “Varric, you _should_ have told them. You are the Viscount now. It matters to a lot more people when you go missing.“

“Yeah, but my life is still _mine_.” He throws himself back against the grass, letting out a huff. "It’s constant and never ending, they always need _something_.”

“And they always will,” she says gently. “But you took the job knowing that.”

“Yeah…” He lets out a sigh.

Her hand tightens around his as she leans over him, smiling down at him. “You are a kind man,” she murmurs, “an excellent Viscount… but I understand your struggle. Perhaps talk to Bran about it when they come for you.”

“I guess.”

“Until then, we can… enjoy the view?”

With a grin, he kisses the curve of her neck, fingers pulling gently at the laces of her trousers.

“Varric!” She laughs, pushing his hand away half-heartedly.

He smiles into the crook of her neck. “C'mon, admit it, the idea of getting caught’s a _little_ fun.”

“Varric, they are - _ah_ \- oh, Maker, keep doing that -”

“You like that?”

“You know I do - _oh_ -”

With his free arm, he lowers her to the grass. “Just relax…”

“What if they come for you?”

“I’m more interested in having _you_ come for me,” he drawls, angling his fingers just so and earning a hard tremble as she groans.

“Incorrigible,” she gasps, arching into his touch.

“Yeah, yeah. Less talking, more fucking.”

“Please - please, I need you -”

He straddles her thigh, pushing two fingers in deep. “So wet already, sweetheart? Were you thinking about someone?”

“You, only you,” she whispers. “Only you can make me - _ah_ -”

“Come on, Seeker, sing for me.”

“Maker, Varric, just - _ah!_ Yes, _there_ -”

He kisses her hard, swallowing her cries as he fucks her with his fingers, her body keening around his touch. Having her here, under the open sky instead of in his stuffy office amid paperwork… that was entirely worth the trek.

And then her hands clench, tearing up grass as she comes, a broken moan and his name exhaled.

“That’s my girl. Think you can go again?”

She laughs, breathless and high. “Think you can keep up?”

He grabs her by the hips, rolling her up and on top of him. “Is that a jab at my age or my height?”

“I rather like your… height,” she teases, her heat pressing against his length as he groans.

“Cassandra -”

Her hands are quick to unlace his trousers, fingers light on his flesh as she eases him into her, a soft sigh on her lips.

“I like this,” she says, rolling her hips, and he grits his teeth, letting out a soft grunt. “Being fucked by the Viscount on the outskirts of the city. So illicit. Like one of your stories.”

“If this was one of my stories, the ground would be a lot softer, and I’d be a fair bit younger.”

“Gritty realism,” she teases, before he bucks his hips and makes her gasp, arms wrapping around his neck. “Fuck me, Viscount.”

He does, slow and deep at first, relishing each gasp and moan that he forces from her lips, revelling in her tightness around his cock. And then his grip on her waist tightens, his pace picking up, and she cries out as he takes her.

“Ah! Varric - Maker, _Varric_ -”

“Come on, come for me,” he pants. “Come for me, Cassandra -”

She reaches between them, finds the hard flesh and presses fast circles -

“Oh - yes, _yes_ -”

Head tipped back, free hand gripping his shirt, she comes with a wail, and he follows her over the edge, his own cry catching in his throat.

She falls against him with a soft laugh, lazy kisses pressed to his skin. “You never cease to amaze, my love.”

He grins. “I do my best, Seeker.”

It is dark by the time the search parties find them, curled up by candlelight. Bran looks embarrassed as he approaches the dwarf and the sleeping Seeker.

“I’m sorry. I tried to keep them away.”

"Not your fault.” Varric smiles as he brushes her hair softly. “She’ll kill me for this. Letting her sleep.”

Bran smiles. “She would forgive you in a heartbeat. You should marry her.”

Varric chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t see her agreeing to that.”

She stirs in his lap, words a soft mumble.

“Time to wake up, my love.”

He frowns, leaning down to hear. “What?”

“Wake up -”

* * *

“- Varric, you need to wake up.”

He stirs, one eye opening blearily. “Mm?”

Cassandra smiles, beautiful and bright, head tilted to meet his eyes. “Good morning.”

She looks radiant in the sunlight - not even the smog of Kirkwall could mar that. He shifts under the sheets, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

“Morning. What’s -”

“You have a meeting this morning with your publisher.”

“Shit. Do I?”

“Yes, my love. Your manuscript is already packed in the car for you. I will forgive you for missing yoga, if only because she has been trying to arrange this for months.”

He groans, burying his face into the pillow again. “No. No, I want to go back to sleep.”

“It sounded like a good dream,” she says with a smirk, one hand trailing down his chest. “A _very_ good dream.”

Varric’s nerves stand to attention, and suddenly he feels a lot less sleepy. “It was.” He tugs her into his lap, smiling broadly up at her. “You were a fierce warrior, and I was a city leader, and we made passionate love overlooking my home.”

“Fierce warrior?” She laughs. “My poor addled love.”

“You were very hot in the armour.”

“Ah, _that_ was the appeal, then.”

“Oh, that and the fact that you could beat me up. But you have that appeal here too.” He grins as she laughs again.

“Come. You have a meeting.” She climbs off him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “As much as you are adorable in your sleep, you need to shower.”

“Was I talking again?”

“Mm. Something about ‘she would not agree to it’?”

He stills on the edge on the bed. “ _Ah_. Yeah.”

She leans against the doorframe, eyes glinting. “Oh? Do tell, my love.”

“Naah. It’s, ah… embarrassing.”

“All the more reason to.”

He chuckles, rubbing his neck. “In the dream, someone found us - _after_ the mindblowing sex, of course.”

“Of course.”

“They said I should marry you.”

The smile vanishes. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Stupid, I know -”

“And you said I - I mean, she -”

“It was a dream,” he stresses. “Just a story my brain saw fit to amuse me with overnight.”

She considers this, chewing on her bottom lip. “I _might_ agree to it,” she says finally, “if you asked.” And she throws him a smile before slipping out the room.

Varric blinks.

“You - wait, what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original idea had Varric leave for the meeting and get into a fatal car crash, but I decided against it. For a change.


	120. angst meme: you look so empty...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look so… empty. I’m worried for you, please talk to me.” for cass/varric plz?

Varric does not ask.

After all, what does he know about Seekers? Nothing, other than the things she had mentioned with that inflection of pride. He cannot begin to comprehend what a blow it was to find the Lord Seeker’s real intentions, and what he had done to the people she called family.

So Varric does not ask.

But she is quiet - painfully so. And she is the Seeker. She is not one for bottling things up - Hawke’s arrival had shown that much. But right now she says little of anything, and he has to wonder if she has simply forgotten how to talk.

But Varric does not ask.

Until he does, because someone has to.

*

He finds her by the fire, settling down next to her and choosing his words carefully.

She does not speak.

“Look, I… I don’t know much about the Order. But I know what family is, and I know how much it hurts when… when they let you down. When they pass.”

And still she does not speak.

“You look so… empty.” His hand reaches tentatively out to her arm, gloves light against the leather. “I’m _worried_ for you, Seeker.”

And still, silence.

He swallows. “Please… talk to me, Cassandra.”

And still.

He pulls his hand back, but her own reaches to cover it, keeping him close. She does not turn to meet his gaze, does not offer explanation, simply sits and stares into the fire, her hand tight around his.

They remain this way for a time, before her back relaxes and she lets out a sigh that speaks of every ache trapped in her chest. Instinctively, he draws closer, wrapping an arm around her, and she leans into him as her head comes to rest on his shoulder.

She trembles, and Varric realises for the first time how human she really is. That was always the problems with heroes - far too easy to forget what lay underneath.

“Seeker -”

“You used my name,” she croaks, “would you - would you use it again? I cannot be the Seeker, not now.”

He presses his cheek to the top of her head. “Ah, Cassandra. You will, in time. It’ll get better.”

“You cannot know that.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Varric -”

“I _can_. I lived through Kirkwall, I lived through Haven. I know it’ll get better.” He swallows. “Trust me. I know I don’t make that easy, but… trust me.”

Her hand tightens around his for a moment, and she sighs again, another shudder passing through her.

“Alright,” she whispers. “This once.”

It is an important victory, Varric thinks, though as his heart skips he is not sure he is entirely selfless in his reasoning.


	121. i love you meme: storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As we huddle together, the storm raging outside

His fingers tighten around the rope holding him down, the ship swaying as it rides the highs of the waves. He hates it, hates the blasted sea, the damned storm that whips the water, the ridiculous fear that chokes him.

He does not want to die at sea.

The galley door opens, and the Seeker tumbles through, staggering to her feet as the ship falls again, the swell breaking on the bow.

“Varric, are you -”

“This is my fault,” he says through gritted teeth. “I said we should go to the Emporium. I’m a fucking idiot.”

She manages a smile, tottering over and all but falling into his lap on the cot. “Do not blame yourself.”

He lets go of the rope, gathering her up in his arms as he pulls her into a tight embrace. “If we die out here -”

“Do you remember the last time we crossed this sea together?” she murmurs, and his hands tighten around her.

He did. Of course he did. He had been angry, devastated to be leaving Kirkwall under such wretched circumstances… in such grumpy company. He had been foul, he knows that, but so had she.

The waters had been calmer, belying the chaos inside the ship. Now, he finds the storm outside and the calm within. How times had changed.

Her fingers are soft in his hair, her lips brushing his temple gently. He had been surprised when she had confronted him a few months after Hawke’s leaving party, the taste of wine on her tongue and a single quiet request - _please_. Since then, they had found a strange sort of happiness with one another, their baiting taking a more teasing tone and their down-time more often than not spent in each others company.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her shoulder, his arms tightening around her. If he was to die tonight, then so be it - he had his lover in his arms, and few could ask for more.

She hums softly. “And I you. But the storm will pass, my love. It always does.”

*

She is right, of course. She usually is.


	122. i love you meme: blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a hoarse voice, under the blankets

She excels at many things - defending her faith, besting recruits without embarrassment, teaching Cole to read…

Being ill is _not_ something she excels at.

“Seeker, what the -”

She is sprawled on the floor, one leg still tangled in the bedsheets, a hacking cough shaking her body, and she manages a glare before Varric’s strong arms haul her up and back into the bed. “I was getting up,” she mutters.

“Of _course_ you were,” he says in that sweet tone that suggests he is trying very hard not to tell her off. “And how was that working out for you?”

“Varric -” But whatever she might have been prepared to say gets lost in another cough, her torso aching with the effort of it, and the hard look in the dwarf’s eyes vanishes as he prepares some fresh water for her.

“Here. Drink.”

“Thank you.”

With her mouth occupied enough that she cannot retort, he takes his chance. “I know you’re bored. I know you want to be up and going about your business as usual. But you can’t.” He tugs on the sheets, tucking them in before finding another blanket. “You’re sick. Your body needs rest until this passes. As much as you want to be hacking dummies to pieces, that won’t help you get better -”

“Are you _quite_ sure?” she asks in a quiet voice, and Varric finally smiles.

“Yes, Seeker.” He spreads the blanket over her with a flourish, and she finds herself snuggling into the sheets despite herself. “You need to look after yourself. World’s not ready to lose you yet.”

“I am not _dying_ , Varric.”

He takes the water from her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Your temperature’s still high,” he murmurs, frowning as he rests a hand on her forehead. She cannot help but smile at the touch - Varric, for his faults and annoyances, had a way of making her feel…

What _did_ she feel?

The thought was not a new one - ever since the epidemic had swept through the Inner Circle, Varric had been taking care of everyone, insisting that his dwarven constitution protected him from such trivial things as a fever. She had watched with admiration as he had nursed Sera through a high fever, had tolerated Dorian’s foul temper in the face of a blocked nose, had weathered everyone’s moods with a smile, calming storms and tending to warm brows with the same care he took in his storytelling. 

And she had felt her heart grow for him, had felt the kindling of affection grow into a flickering heat, a steady flame, a light she could not tamper.

And then the sickness had claimed her too.

He nudges her, bringing her back to the moment with a quick apology, and she watches him as he pours another mug of water.

“Another few days,” he says, “if everyone else is anything to judge by.”

She sighs. “I cannot bear such idleness and isolation.”

“Ah, it’s not all bad.” He settles in the chair beside her, smile kind. “You’ve got me, after all.”

The flame flares in her chest, and she hides her smile underneath the blankets. It would consume her, she can feel it. So she allows it a kindness, an admission.

“I love you,” she whispers, burying her face against the pillow. 

Varric’s lips are gentle against her hair.

“Tell me when you’re not sick,” he murmurs, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “And maybe - well. Get some rest for now, and maybe we’ll see what comes after.”

“I would like that,” she says softly, one eye peering out from the blankets to find his face.

He smiles, and she falls asleep dreaming of his lips.

*

“So much for dwarven constitution,” she deadpans five days later, when Varric complains loudly and frequently from his enforced bedrest.


	123. i love you meme: muffled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muffled, from the other side of the door

“Varric! Varric!”

Cassandra’s hand are bloody and raw from banging against the unforgiving wood, her voice hoarse from shouting for her companion’s name. And yet the door remains solid and unmoved, her efforts for nothing. Still, there was silence. Still, she did not know if he was alive.

He had to be. He _had_ to be alive.

They had been captured in the Graves - bandits, of all things! - and shoved into makeshift cells in an abandoned cottage. With no windows, she could not be sure how long they had been here, but the meagre supply of water and bread had dwindled and she was sure it had been at least two full days since their capture.

Nobody had come for her.

This much was a surprise - she wore the armour of a Seeker of the Chantry, and she had been targeted by bandits before. The Hero of Orlais was a prize considered most highly in certain dark circles. And yet she had been left alone, and Varric had been… had been…

His cries had stopped hours ago, and they had continued to torture him, the dull noise of flesh still filtering under the door. It was not loose enough to budge at her insistent shoulderbarge, it was not ill-fitting enough to allow her sight through the crack at the bottom, and yet still she railed at it. It was all she could do.

And they they had left him, and she took up the cry.

Now, of course, she has only thin hope that he could hear her. Thin hope that he was still -

A noise - she stills, holding her breath as she strains to hear it. A slow, laboured shuffle of a sound, a second of silence, and then the noise again, a little closer. She sinks to her knees, hand pressed against the door.

“Varric?”

He grunts, and she lets out a soft cry, the tension releasing from her in a rush. “Seeker.” His voice is thick and wet, and she dreads to think of the state he must be in.

“Andraste take them, what did they do to you?”

“Ah, you know.” A soft thump as he rests against the door. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

She hits the wood gently. “Liar.”

He manages a weak laugh. “Mm. You okay?”

“They did not come for me.”

“That’s not an answer, Seeker.”

She smiles. “You are alive, Varric. I am _fine_.”

His head thunks against the wood. “Ah, Cassandra.” Quieter now, the tiredness ebbing in. “That’s not an answer either.”

“Rest, Varric. We will be freed soon, I swear it.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, even quieter. “You know that, right?”

She swallows. “Varric -”

“Just sayin’,” he slurs, and she strains to hear as he sighs, breath slowing as slumber takes him.

She curls up against the door, cheek pressed against it. “I love you too, Varric. I love you too.”


	124. i love you meme: bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over a beer bottle

It was Hawke’s idea, naturally.

“We’re not teenagers,” groans Varric, as Hawke drains the bottle and places it with care side-down in the middle of the table.

“You’re as old as you feel, Varric.”

“Or as old as the person you’re feeling up,” supplies Isabela with a wink.

“Still not a teenager,” quips Cassandra, and the pirate laughs, slapping her on the shoulder.

“I knew I liked you.”

It was… strange, thinks Cassandra, as Hawke and Varric settle into old patter. They had come to Kirkwall so that she might meet his peculiar little family, and she had been worried that they would not accept her, given the nature of her meeting Varric and taking him away from their home. But they had been as welcoming as he had promised, and it is with a comfortable ease that they now sit around a table in the Hanged Man, her knee affectionately pressed against his under the table.

It felt right.

*

Before long, Merrill is pleasantly drunk, hands unsteady and she spins the bottle.

Cassandra.

“Truth,” she says promptly.

Merrill smiles. “Do you love Varric?”

Varric spits out his drink. “Friendly fire, Daisy!”

“What? I want to know!”

Isabela laughs, and Hawke looks at Cassandra apologetically.

“You don’t have to answer that. Tell us something else, something about -”

“Yes.”

Silence falls. Hawke smiles approvingly. 

Cassandra swallows. In a tavern, in his home, surrounded by his family… she had never imagined it like this. But she would not deny what she already knew in her heart.

Varric _stares_.

“You… you do?”

She smiles. “I do.” Reaching for his hand, she squeezes it gently. “I love you, Varric.”

“Awwww!” Merrill looks like she might cry, and Aveline tugs her back into her seat. “That’s so sweet!”

Varric has a strange look in his eyes as he laces his fingers between hers. “Your turn,” he says softly.

She reaches out, spinning it carefully.

Varric.

“Truth,” he says, before she can ask - the first time he has not taken a dare.

She smiles. “Varric.”

“Truth. Ask me.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “What happens to the Guard-Captain -”

As one the table groans, and Varric looks annoyed.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“That is my question, unless you wish to take the dare instead.”

He huffs. “Fine. Dare.”

With a smirk, she leans over to whisper into his ear. “Take me upstairs, dwarf, and let us continue this conversation in private. Preferably naked.”

Varric stands up too quickly, the chair falling back with a clatter. “Dare accepted!” he shouts, before hoisting her over one shoulder.

“Varric!”

“Sorry guys, we’ll be back in the morning. Maybe,” he adds with a laugh, before carrying her upstairs to his - no, she thinks giddily, _their_ rooms.


	125. i love you meme: beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave
> 
> (Formula One AU)

“You’re going to race.”

Cassandra looks up as she zips up her suit. “Yes.”

Varric looks… small. She knows his views on this plan, this last-ditched effort to find the perpetrators of the recent race sabotages. She would race, and they would take the bait, whilst others in her team hunted them. Varric had been very vocal in his displeasure. Now, he is silent.

“Varric, we have no other choice. I must play my part.” She zips up her boots. “And besides, you have checked the car over more times than -”

“Don’t.” His voice is weak, quiet. “Hot shot, _don’t._ ”

“We will be fine. We will survive this ordeal, and we will reveal the truth of all the attacks - the explosion at Haven, the losses on the Adamant circuit…”

A noise draws her gaze. Varric is _crying_. Cassandra cannot let it pass. Her hands cup his face, insistent when he tries to pull away.

“My love,” she murmurs. “Oh, my love. _Please_.”

“I can’t - Cassandra, I can’t -”

“Hush,” she whispers, kissing the top of his head. “I will not die. I swear this to you now.”

“Don’t get in that car. Don’t. P-please.” His fingers tighten around her arm. “I love you. I love you, I can’t -”

She can hear his heart breaking. And yet she must.


	126. two word prompt: purple & summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two words randomly chosen: purple and summer

Varric hates the summer.

Well, he amends, that was hardly fair. He hated all seasons, for their own reasons - the bitter chill of winter, the breezy rush of fall, the dreary rain of spring… but the heat of summer was the worst. In Kirkwall there was respite in the shady cool buildings, the ocean breeze from the harbour a great tonic. Even in Skyhold, the mountain air was never stifling.

In the Graves, there is nothing to soothe the feeling of burning.

Tugging Bianca’s strap from his chest, he winces. His arms were bare, and as a consequence his shoulders would no doubt suffer for the sun’s gaze, but at least he had _that_ luxury. Ahead of him, Cassandra’s footsteps were beginning to drag, the back of her neck the only visible patch of skin underneath her armour. It is red, angry from the heat and the confinement. He half-fancies he sees steam emerging from the chestplate.

“You alright, Seeker?”

“Fine,” she replies, but it is weak, without bite. “We must press on.”

“Heat, unbearable, like a lobster in a pot, _I cannot flag, I cannot falter_ -”

“Kid, take it easy.” Varric pats him on the arm. “Leave her be.”

“She won’t ask for help,” murmurs Cole. “Why won’t she ask for help?”

Varric watches her leg stumble, her pace slowing. “Because she’s proud,” he says simply. “Maker take her, she’s too damned proud.”

Cole brightens suddenly. “Then we have to ask for her.”

“And how do we -” He stops. “Oh.” He smiles. “Clever, Kid.”

Cole beams, and Varric eases Bianca off his back and hands it off to the spirit before throwing himself to the floor dramatically.

“I can’t do it!” he wails. “I can’t go another step! We need to stop!”

Ahead, the Inquisitor sighs, stopping. “Varric, we are very close to the scout camp. Are you sure -”

“Don’t test me,” he warns, but he stills as the Inquisitor stops, staring at the Seeker. “What? Let me guess, the Seeker doesn’t agree with me.”

Cassandra turns, finally, and Varric sits bolt upright at the sight of her pale face.

“Shit, Cassandra -”

“Varric may have a point,” she says, before dropping to the floor in a dead faint.

*

He carries her to the camp himself, after the Inquisitor helps him peel off a few layers of metal - the damned armour had been so hot that their fingers had burned, and Cassandra herself had suffered from being in it for so long, scalding red marks against her skin where the flesh had touched metal between the wrappings of fabric she had borne instead of her usual sleeved doublet.

But here, at least, there was shelter from the sun - a canopy held up by tent poles, loose enough that what breeze was available could still pass underneath the fabric. It is here that he carefully lays her down, one hand lingering at her forehead.

“We need to cool her down.”

The Inquisitor finds a bowl of water, fingers making a gesture as it freezes over. “Here. It won’t last long in this heat, but ice chips will help. Cole, can you find some fresh elfroot? We need the sap for her burns.”

Cole vanishes, and the Inquisitor leaves Varric to his work, hacking a few slivers of ice from the bowl and resting them between her lips until they melted.

“Stubborn woman,” he murmurs quietly. “Anyone else and you would have stopped. Anyone else, and you would have cut them some slack.” He swallows, resting another piece of ice against her lips. “Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn when it comes to yourself?”

“She can’t help it.” Cole appears at his side, cross-legged as he tugs the stalks of the elfroot leaves apart, revealing the gooey sap inside. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Varric tends to the red marks on her body with care, working in silence for a time.

“She loves you,” Cole says quietly.

“I know.”

“But you wish she loved herself too.”

“Sometimes.” Varric smiles thinly. “Nothing I can do to change that, though.”

Cole picks at the plants in his lap. “Proud, but not proud enough sometimes. A pedestal, halfway to the Maker, empty.” He tilts his head in thought. “You think her a legend, sometimes, but she can’t see it. She’s too busy looking at _you_.”

Varric’s hands still at that. “Me?”

“You are similar, in some ways. Proud, always dancing with stubbornness. Legends in each others eyes, but unworthy in your own.”

“I know my worth, Kid.”

Cole hums assent. “Perhaps. Not compared to your worth in her eyes.” He plucks the small purple flowers, gently sliding them into her braid. “But you can help her.”

“I am -”

“You’re being purposefully obtuse, Varric.”

He chuckles, pulling back and watching Cole for a moment. “You sound like her.”

“Did it work?”

“Almost, Kid.” He breaks off some more ice. “What’s with the flowers?”

“She likes feeling pretty.”

*

It is another hour before she stirs, another two bowls of ice and Varric’s own shoulders getting a slathering of the elfroot sap before her face scrunches up and her soft exhale becomes a groan.

“Hey, beautiful.”

She brings her hand up to cover her face. “Oh. Oh, _no_.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Where are we?”

“The scout camp.”

“And how exactly did _I_ get here?”

He smiles slightly. “I, ah… I carried you, sweetheart.”

She groans, rolling away from him. “ _That_ is what is wrong,” she mumbles. “I am so _embarrassed_.”

“You were ill,” he points out.

“I was weak -”

“Cut that shit out,” he says darkly. “I’m _really_ not in the mood.”

She turns back to face him, looking chastened. “Varric -”

“If that had been me, you wouldn’t be calling me weak. If it had been anyone else in armour in that blazing heat, you wouldn’t even _think_ it.” He feeds her more ice. “You hold yourself up against impossible standards, and I’m sick of it. You’re as human as any of us, and it’s time you started looking after yourself like you’d look after any one of us.”

She reaches for his hand. “You are angry.”

“You’ve been out for nearly two hours,” he says quietly.

“You were scared.”

“Yeah.”

“I am sorry.” She brings his fingers to her lips, kissing the tips lightly. “I thought I could bear it a little longer. I will not make that mistake again, I promise.”

Varric does not believe that for a moment, but he smiles anyway. “How do you feel?”

“Tired and sore. Tomorrow I think I shall forgo the - ouch.” She struggles to sit up, but as she does one of the small purple flowers tumbles down. “Oh. What is this?”

“The Kid wanted you to feel pretty,” explains Varric, leaning in to support her. “Didn’t have the heart to tell him you’re always beautiful.”

She tuts, but the smile is worth it. “Charmer.”

“Maybe a little. Here, the Inquisitor left you a potion. Should help with the burns.” He uncorks it, and her fingers brush against his as she takes it with a grateful look. “Now, what have we learned from all this?”

She pulls a face as she drains the vial. “Ugh. To wear a doublet, regardless of the conditions.”

“ _Seeker_.”

She reaches for the ice, finding a large chunk and offering it to him. “To take better care of that which my lover holds dear,” she amends. “Myself.”

“Mm.”

“It is good, is it not?”

He pulls her in closer, pressing chilled lips against her neck. _“Mmm.”_

“Oh!” She shivers, despite the heat of his tongue swiping against her skin. “Varric -”

“I think I’ve found a better way to feed you ice,” he growls, laying her back down as he sticks another piece between his teeth, advancing on her.


	127. two word prompt: heart & birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two words randomly chosen: heart and birthday

The first postcard Varric receives is blank - no sender, no signature.

He pins it to the fridge and smiles.

*

They might have been something wonderful, if only Varric had been more _sure_.

Cassandra Pentaghast was a force of nature in his life, as most women were, but time has taught him to step cautiously and he had been rewarded with a friendship worth clinging to. They had spent the better part of a year dancing around one another, and he had felt a breaking point had to be close -

And then, one day, she had simply vanished.

Ruffles assured him she would be fine - Cassandra was not the kind of woman to head out on a tour of the world unprepared - but still he felt a strange pain in his chest.

And then the first postcard had arrived.

*

There is no pattern to their arrival, only their steadfast blankness. He wonders if she is happy. He wonders if she sends them to everyone.

He wonders if she feels the way he feels - lost and alone without her.

*

The fifth one is when he notices it.

A small black dot in the corner, the tiniest mark of ink. He frowns, considering it. What did it mean? Going back to the others, he finds them similarly marked.

And then it hits him.

He can imagine her, in some hotel far away, pen poised to write… before the words fail her, and she sends the card blank.

It breaks his heart.

*

Eight months after she vanishes, someone knocks at his door. It is far too late for a visitor. Varric grabs hold of his bat.

Opening the door carefully, he stares.

“Hello,” says Cassandra, smiling weakly.

He opens his mouth. Snaps it shut again. Swallows.

“Seeker. You’re back.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” His arm drops. “Come in.”

She trails in sheepishly, her rucksack almost overflowing as she dumps it down by the couch. “I apologise for the time. I know it is late -”

“When did you get back?”

She thinks for a moment. “How far away would you say the airport is?”

“About an hour or so.”

“Then I have been back for about an hour or so.”

He stares. “You came straight here.”

“Yes,” she says, smiling. “Yes, I did.”

He hesitates for a moment, before getting up. “I’m gonna fix some coffee.”

“Alright.”

By the time he shuffles back in with two mugs of coffee, she is asleep. He smiles, reaching out to stroke her hair - it was longer now, but it suited her.

She stirs slightly. “V’ric?”

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers.

“H’py birthd’y,” she mumbles, rolling over and falling back into slumber. He looks up at the clock. 1.35am.

“Yeah,” he realises. “Happy birthday to me.”

*

She wakes early - too early. The sky is still dark, and tiredness still claws at her.

Varric is asleep, curled into her side, one arm slung over her waist. His weight is warm, comforting.

 _Just a little longer_ , she thinks, surrendering to the dark.

*

She wakes to a bright sky and a distinct lack of Varric.

“Fool,” she murmurs, “I am a fool.”

Dragging herself from the couch, she runs her head under the tap in the bathroom, drying her hair roughly before giving herself a cursory once-over in the mirror. Not quite as bad-looking as she felt, but she needs a haircut desperately. Slipping out would be easy - Varric’s door would lock itself, and she could come back another day, when she was less prone to hysteria.

Lifting the rucksack onto one shoulder, she takes one last look around before opening the door -

“Seeker.”

He stands in the doorway, frowning.

“What are you doing?”

She stares at him, before swallowing. “I -”

“Sit.”

She does, because that tone of voice brooks no argument.

He puts the coffee on the table and kisses her forehead before heading to the kitchen. “We’re gonna do that thing normal people do,” he adds over his shoulder.

“What thing?”

“Talking. With actual conversation.”

She laughs, easing the bag off her shoulder. “We talked last night -”

“We did. But not about the important things.” He shuffles back in, putting the sugar in front of her before sitting next to her. “So. You’re back.”

She shifts slightly, looking away. “Varric, you do not have to say anything. I know you have doubtless moved on from… from the situation I left you with -”

“Seeker.”

“- but I have to be honest. I have… I have been a coward for some time, and I do not wish -”

“Seeker, stop.”

“- Varric, please -”

He reaches out, lifting her chin with his fingertips. “Hey. _Stop_. It’s alright. You don’t have to do anything.” He smiles broadly. “You came back for my birthday. Best present ever.”

She swallows again, finally meeting his eyes. “I - Varric, that is not your present.”

“Did you get me a wooden spoon from Gwaren? Because Daisy’s been talking about those and I think she’d appreciate it -”

“I love you.”

The expression on his face is priceless. “I’m sorry?”

“I - I love you.” She shifts slightly, looking away again. “That… that is your present. Clarity, I suppose, and my… my heart. If you wish for it.”

“You -” Varric swallows. “You came back to tell me -”

“I came back because I am not running away from these feelings anymore. I came back because I am unafraid to say it, to tell you that I love -”

His lips are gentle against hers, tentative, as if she might fly away again. But Cassandra is quite sure she will never leave him alone, if only for the chance to kiss him over and over. Her heart overflows, her hands coming up to cradle his face, pulling him closer as she swallows his gasp, embraces his joy, meets his heart with her own.

They break, slow and tender, and Varric takes a shaky breath.

“I love you,” she murmurs.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he teases. “And on my birthday, too.”

She huffs a soft laugh. “Should I leave?”

He looks stricken for a second. “What? No!”

“I am kidding.”

“You sure as hell better be!” he says, before tugging her into a more passionate kiss, and she lets the world melt away as they fall into one another, finally in step.


	128. two word prompt: water & dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two words randomly chosen: water and dark

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Cassandra thinks the water comes in roughly once every two seconds. Accounting for the hour that she counted by hand, she has been stuck in this underground lagoon for three and a half hours, and she has not heard any other sound in that time, save for Varric’s uneven breathing.

It makes her lose count.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Her hand is splayed against his chest - not pushing down, simply resting. Making sure he keeps breathing. Her hand is wet. She cannot tell if it is blood or water - everything is cold, save for his chest. It keeps moving up and down, and that is enough for now, in the dark.

She prays, silently, that it is enough.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

She hates this feeling in her chest, this ache of unshed tears, of frustration reined in. But she cannot cry, cannot scream. Varric would wake up, and she needed to keep it together for his sake. Trapped in the dark in a cave… he would panic. She needed to keep it together.

He _would_ wake up. He had to.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

His breath catches, his chest tensing. Cassandra skims her fingers over his chest hair.

“Varric,” she murmurs, “keep your eyes closed.”

“Too late,” comes the hoarse reply, and she feels a wave of relief at the sound. “What’s going on?”

“I will not lie to you, it is… not good.” She steels herself - she must be strong, for both of them.

His hand comes up to cover hers, squeezing tightly. It feels like the most hopeful thing she has felt in hours.

“Give it to me straight, Seeker.”

“We are in a cave in the Hinterlands. There was an avalanche somewhere, and we were cut off. You hit your head, I think. It was hard to tell, in the dark.”

“I hit my head. It’s murder right now, along with my shoulder. Where are the others?”

“I do not know for certain.”

He draws in a shaky breath. “Okay.” His grip on her fingers is like a vice. “But you’re okay, right?”

“I am uninjured.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She shuffles closer to him, squeezing his hand. “I was worried you would not wake,” she admits. “I… I do not like being useless, and I have been unable to do anything up until now.”

She feels him move, hauling himself up to a sitting position. His arm is pressed up against hers, their hands still joined. “It’s wet,” he says finally. “I can’t tell if my head’s bleeding or just soggy.” A wet noise, and then he spits. “Ugh. It’s water. Dirty water.”

“Small mercies,” she says softly.

“They’ll come for us. They have to. Can’t leave you behind. You’re a candidate for the Divine’s throne.”

“You _know_ the Inquisitor favours Leliana.”

“Seeker -”

“They are more likely to come for you. Your stories keep them entertained.” She smiles. “Bull would be distraught.”

He chuckles, a weak noise. “And where would Curly be without you to train the men?”

“Cole would require a new tutor.”

“Buttercup would make a shrine of your underwear and mourn.”

“Vivienne wants you to finish that book.”

He hesitates. “Shit. Alright, you win this time.” He shifts, and suddenly his lips are pressed against her jaw. “But they’re coming back,” he murmurs, and she curls around him, resting her head against his.

“Yes. They are.”

_Drip. Drip. Drip._


	129. two word prompt: moon & food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two words randomly chosen: moon and food

Cassandra is on the second watch - arguably the worst, as few could sleep much either side of it. But she likes the quiet of the peak of night, the full moon hanging high above them as she watches over the small campsite. There is a peace to be found here.

And then a sound - from the tents, someone emerges. The stout shape of the dwarf makes her smile. Things between them had been… better. She wonders if they might continue that way. She rather hopes so.

“You cannot sleep?” she asks.

Varric looks like a naughty child caught in the act. She supposes he is.

“What have you got there?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says far too quickly, and she smiles.

“Hand it over, dwarf.”

He mutters under his breath, offering up the small wrapped package. She peers in, frowning at the round dark fruits, dried and covered in a crystalline sheen.

“Dates?”

“Yeah. Rivaini sent them, she always used to bring me some whenever she came back from Antivan traders.”

She feels a pang of guilt in her stomach. She had taken him away from his home, dragged him to the other side of the world and ended up trapping him into another destiny-altering adventure.

“You miss home,” she murmurs softly.

“Yeah.” He settles on the log next to her. “But it’s not so bad here, I suppose.” He smiles up at her.

She laughs, a hollow sound. “We are outside, in the middle of nowhere, miles from anywhere -”

“Yeah,” he says. “ _We_ are.”

She stills, looking down. His hand covers hers, gloved thumb curling around her fingers.

“You still think I’m here because you took me away from Kirkwall,” he says softly, “but I stayed because I wanted to. Stop punishing yourself over an imagined slight.”

She leans into him, resting her cheek against his crown. “Varric -”

“Fancy a date?” He offers them up, and she smiles, feeling the flush in her cheeks at what other meaning he might have had.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmurs, and she chuckles.

“I look forward to it.”


	130. emotions meme: yearning

He is just out of reach. Always out of reach, by a hair’s breadth. Always.

Cassandra cannot bear it, some days. It is too much and not enough, and it burns her in that cavern of a heart, the part of her life she has pushed aside for duty and purpose. Some days.

She aches, and he does not even realise it is for him.

*

In the Forbidden Oasis, Varric wears lighter armour. His duster, he had said begrudgingly, was too constricting in the heat. She privately agrees.

They linger in a shady gully. By chance, her hand brushes against his arm. She pulls away, as if burned.

“Sorry,” he says, frowning as she cups her hand to her chest. “You alright?”

She nods, forcing a smile. “Just a shock.”

“Guess you’re used to it, with all that armour.”

She laughs, sharp and jarring. “I suppose I am.”

He smiles, another spark - this time in his eyes. She is drawn to it, the fibre of her heart crying out for it -

“Are you two coming?” calls the Inquisitor, and the moment shatters, Varric stepping away.

“You fool,” she whispers. “You fool.”


	131. assorted meme: birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16: “What a thing to say - and on my birthday!”  
> (Worth Keeping AU)

Varric’s birthday, four years ago, would have been a grand affair. A hired room in his favourite watering hole, everyone he could care to mention in attendance, feasting and frolicks and near-misses with Cassandra’s lips…

Although, he supposes, as her lips attend to his neck in earnest, he could hardly complain on _that_ development.

“ _Ngh_ \- Seeker, if you keep this up we’ll never get out of bed -”

“Perhaps,” she laughs, “that is my intention.”

He rolls over, pinning her down as he kisses her hard, swallowing her moans. His teeth rake over her bottom lip, a gasp escaping both of them, and he grins down at her.

“Well, you’re shit out of luck, because I know for a fact you have a meeting today.”

She groans, hands settling on his hips and rubbing against him. “Do not remind me.”

“Seeker -”

“Just a little longer, Varric. It is your birthday, after all…”

She is late, but as Varric stretches out against the sheets smugly, sated, he decides he does not _care_.

*

It is mid-afternoon when she returns, finding him oh the phone with Hawke.

“Yeah, I shit you not. All in a row, like fucking dominos!”

Something in her chest tugs at her heart, his light tone a reminder of her conversations with Leliana. She busies herself in the kitchen, lost in thought.

“Hey.” His hand at her back is soft. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“I did not wish to disturb you.”

“Come and sit with me.”

She hesitates, before following him into the front room and sitting next to him. “Are you… I mean, are you _happy_ , Varric?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her fingers twist around themselves, her eyes dropping from his. “I rather disrupted your life, coming back from - from the dead, and I -”

“What a thing to say,” he laughs. “And on my birthday? Come on.” He lays a hand over hers, stilling their fretting. “What’s brought this on?”

“I met with Leliana.” She sighs. “It brought a lot of realisations. The things I have lost. The ways I have changed your life, in both leaving and coming back.”

He brings her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “For the better,” he reminds her. “Coming back was for the _better_.”

She does not respond, chewing her bottom lip for a long moment.

“Cassandra?”

“I do not regret this. Any of this, of us. Only…” She sighs, her shoulders relaxing. “I did not know what to get you for your birthday, Varric. You have changed so _much_ , and I -”

“That’s what this is about?”

“I only wonder if your birthday would have been easier if I hadn’t - it is only a thought.” She sighs. “But I wanted to get you something good. It is _important_ -”

“No, it isn’t.” He laughs, pulling her into a tight embrace. “It really, _really_ isn’t. I don’t need anything, I don’t want anything - come on, I was _always_ hard to buy for.”

Her arms curl around his back, eyes closing as she rests her head against his. “Varric -”

“I have you. That’s all I -”

“I wish you would not say that.”

“Why?”

“It reminds me of the three birthdays I _did_ miss.” She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. “Ugh.”

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs. “It’s my birthday.”

She laughs, swatting his arm. “Go and wash up, and find a nice shirt. I will take you out for dinner.”

“Sounds perfect.” He smiles as he pulls her into a soft kiss.

*

He links their fingers, smiling as she squeezes his hand. She had taken almost an hour to get ready - strange, given that _she_ usually waits for _him_ to finish primping, but she looks happy, and Varric takes that as a good start to their evening.

He thinks she might choose the Thai restaurant she knows he prefers, but she guides him on past the shinier parts of the city. The sushi place where he first took her upon her return is bypassed, the Italian where she almost choked on an olive is not even looked at. Instead her feet stop outside the Hanged Man.

“What are we -”

She smiles. “Something a little more comforting. Shall we?”

He pushes open the door -

“Surprise!”

Varric stares into the smiling faces of his dearest friends, stunned to silence before Cassandra squeezes his arm.

“I hope you do not mind the company,” she says. Ahead of them, Hawke opens a bottle of something fizzy with a loud pop. He feels Cassandra’s hand tighten around his.

“How -”

“When you were in the shower. It is… not as it was, but I thought -”

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet as he presses a kiss to her wrist. “This… _this_ is perfect.”


	132. assorted meme: standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "H-how long have you been standing there?"  
> (Formula One AU)

Varric paces the length of the garage, mulling over his words.

“Hot shot. _Cassandra_. No, too formal. Cassie? No, no, that’s not mine -”

He stops, sighing heavily.

“Alright. From the top, Tethras.”

Adopting a straighter stance, he smiles.

“Cassandra. Will you move in with me? No, would you _like_ to move in with me?”

He frowns.

“No, wait. I mean, my place is bigger, with the garage and all, and there’s room for kids - not that I _want_ \- I mean -”

He groans, slumping.

“This is ridiculous. Why is it so hard to say, hey, I love you and I want us to live in the same place because waking up next to you is the greatest thing since the invention of the semi-automatic gearbox -”

“Flatterer.”

He stills. In the doorway, she smiles broadly, her eyes betraying how touched she clearly is by his ridiculous display.

“How… long have you been standing there?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

“Do you truly fear my answer, Varric? Just _ask_ me.”

He swallows. “Do you want -”

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “At least let me finish the -”

“Never,” she teases with a laugh, crossing the room to cup his face in her hands. “I would _love_ to live with you, Varric. Truly. My apartment is too small, your place is the obvious choice.”

“Okay.”

“As for… well. I am not particularly _interested_ in being a mother, but if you -”

“Oh, no no. I’m happy without kids, trust me.” His arms wrap around her waist as he smiles up at her. “You’re all I need, hot shot.”

She laughs again. “That is a terrible line.”

“You’ve met me, right? Terrible lines are my speciality.” He reaches up to stroke her cheek. “I meant it. You’re stubborn as hell, you wake up far too early, but I love you and I want to keep waking up far too early in my bed - in _our_ bed.”

Bending slightly, she kisses him. “Shut up, grease monkey,” she murmurs against his lips.

Varric finds it hard to deny her that.


	133. date meme: bucket list

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32: crossing items off a bucket list

“You want to swim with sharks.”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t _swim_.”

She can hear the grin in his voice. “Yeah, I know. That’s why it’s on my bucket list and not on my ‘huh I should do this every day’ list.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes, her grip on the phone tightening. “Varric -”

“You don’t need to be able to swim. I’ve seen the videos on the website, you get stuffed into a cage with an oxygen tank and the sharks swim around you. It’s safe, it’s all about atmosphere.”

“No, Varric -”

“It’s _fun_. Besides, you can swim. You can save me if I get attacked, right?”

“Varric -”

“You’ve always wanted to punch a shark.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “That was a joke. I was _drunk_.”

His laughter is low and warm. “Keep telling yourself that, slugger.”

_“Ugh.”_

“So? Will you do it with me?”

“Why me? I would have thought that Hawke -”

“I don’t want Hawke to come with me. I want _you_.”

Her stomach flips weakly at the words, and she pushes the feeling away. “Why?” she presses.

“Because you’ll actually punch a shark if you have to.”

She groans, but cannot quite stop the smile on her face.

*

Varric realises, the moment he hits the water, that he has made a terrible mistake. The water is freezing, the mask is tight on his face, and the pressure against his chest is suddenly and distressingly firm. His legs paddle for a moment, before a hand closes around his. He looks up into the masked face of the Seeker, her smile unmistakable as the braid usually coiled tightly around her head swims around her. She squeezes his fingers, and he nods.

Gesturing down, she leads him to the base of the cage, and despite the wobble it feels good to have his feet on something solid. Beside them, the instructor points outside the cage.

Varric’s heart stops.

Two large sharks swim around the cage, gliding through the water effortlessly. He steps back, but Cassandra’s hand keeps him close. He tries to still his fears - after all, they were safe in here, and he had the Seeker.

_She could easily fight a shark,_ he thinks, and the thought tickles him.

Cassandra is enthralled by the creatures, and in turn he finds himself less afraid and more interested, though his heart leaps into his mouth when she reaches out to stroke one as it passes.

All too soon, the instructor guides them back to the surface. Cassandra finally lets go of his hand, and he gives one last look to the looming creatures before he breaks the surface of the water.

Hauling himself up onto the boat, he wrestles the mask off with a gasp.

“Ugh.”

“They are not comfortable, are they?” laughs Cassandra, and he looks up -

_Oh._

She sits on the bench, peeling the wetsuit off her arms. Her hair is soaked, sparkling in the sunshine, and the suit falls away to reveal shining skin. He wants to step over the tank and kiss her, to run his hands over her waist and press his body against hers.

So he does.

Her breath catches in her throat, hesitating for a moment before her hands reach up to cup his face. She tastes of the sea and of fire, and he could kick himself for not kissing her sooner. Still, he pulls away with great reluctance, letting her get her bearings once more.

“What -”

He smiles crookedly. “I don’t invite just _anyone_ shark-baiting, Cassandra.”

“You - you, uhm.” She swallows. “Is this a date?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

She considers him for a moment, before smiling. “I think,” she says, “it is the best first date I have ever been on.”

He grins. “Well, not every day you get to punch a shark.”

“I did not -”

“I’m gonna _tell_ everyone you did, though!”

She laughs, swatting his arm. “Varric!”

“Unless you can persuade me otherwise,” he adds in a low voice, grinning as she tugs him into another lingering kiss.


	134. date meme: coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5: Coffee date  
> (Blooming Rose AU)

The steamer is freaking out again in the Val Royeaux Cafe, and Myra is getting too warm to deal with it.

“Excuse me?”

She swallows, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath for a moment - in truth, she is not sure she can handle another angry customer - but when she opens her eyes, there is a smile on the woman opposite her. An understanding smile.

“I do not mean to intrude, but if the steamer is making that noise, it quite often means that some coffee grounds have gotten stuck behind the heating coil. There should be a small thin brush -”

“Oh, I _wondered_ what that was for.” Myra fishes out the wire brush from under the counter.

The woman smiles. “It is oddly specific.”

“Sorry, I’ll -”

“Do not worry. It is hard to keep on top of things you have not had to deal with before. I am in no rush to be served.”

She sets to work, scrubbing the back of the machine. “Did you used to work here?”

“Yes. It feels like a lifetime ago, but it was only last year.”

Myra lets out a triumphant noise as the steamer stops screaming, testing some milk carefully before smiling and brushing her hands on her apron. “Thank you, Miss…?”

“Cassandra. And it is quite alright.” She places an order for a latte and a decaf cappuccino, before joining her partner at the seats in the window. His fond smile is evident even from here, and their teasing jokes are taken in good stead. It is nice to watch.

Myra brings over the drinks, unable to suppress a smile as she catches the tail-end of their conversation.

“… not saying it’s the idea we’ll make _millions_ from, but maybe it’s worth looking into. People _like_ hedgehogs.”

“We are not turning the teashop into an animal cafe, Varric.”

“Well, let’s ask your new friend here. What’s your name?” asks the dwarf, smiling up at her.

“I’m Myra.”

“Do _you_ like hedgehogs, Myra?”

She pulls a face. “I suppose. They’re prickly, though.”

Cassandra laughs. “See? Terrible idea.”

“And you can’t even feed them milk, it’s bad for them. Like cats.”

Varric frowns. “Shit, that’s _that_ idea out the window, then.”

“Told you,” chimes Cassandra over the rim of her drink.

“How about raccoons?”

Myra laughs, and Varric grins, but Cassandra makes a disgusted noise and the idea is put to bed.

“You know, to say I hate this place for almost killing you, it’s not a bad atmosphere.”

“It is worse when it is busy. And when you are behind the counter.”

Myra nods agreement. “It’s not fun when things break, either.”

Varric’s nose wrinkles. “Like your little steamer issue? See, this is why I like teapots better.”

“Are you the owner of the Blooming Rose?”

“Guilty as charged. We’re not currently hiring, if you’re looking to jump ship -”

“Oh, no, not right now at any rate. But my manager is on her break and she’ll be back in forty minutes and I know she had an argument with you on the phone -”

“Ah.” Varric winces. “Thanks. We won’t linger.”

Myra walks away as Cassandra puts her cup down. “Argument? What is she…”

Their discussion becomes heated, and she feels bad as Varric’s frown become more pronounced. But somewhere between emptying the dishwasher and restocking the cup holders, they vanish into the late afternoon sunshine.

*

The next day, Myra is surprised to find a box of pastries with her name on, and a note.

_If you change your mind… - C &V. _


End file.
